Harry Potter and the Tale of Gladimus
by chudleycannonsnumber1
Summary: Ron gets attacked by a werewolf, name o' Greyback, during the Battle of Hogwarts. He runs away from home to fight his curse, while George tries to fight the pain, and a backlash from the war has everyone fighting a new foe.
1. Bad Moon Rising

Disclaimer: I don't own anything that has to do with Harry Potter or have any relation to its publishers or distributors and I do not profit from writing fanfiction.

Rating: T for violence, innuendo, and swearing.

Some more info: Post-Battle. General. Ron. Canon with an AU twist. A story of creatures of the night.

* * *

_With the familiar entrance hall of Hogwarts crumbling to ruin all around him, Ron Weasley could just make out the squealing voice of a young girl through a soundscape of shrieked incantations and explosive curses._

_Ron was able to trace the scream back to the east end of the hall, to a kicking pair of legs sticking out from behind a vacant stone plinth whose statue of a clever boar had been rendered to dust. Squinting, Ron saw the scene more clearly; the long black socks, brown shoes, and uniform robes with red Gryffindor trim told him it was one of their own being attacked._

_"No! Stop—STOP!"_

_Ron recognized the voice immediately, and his throat clenched up at the sound of it. He was currently hidden under an Invisibility Cloak and on a mission to kill a snake — and on a personal mission to kill Death Eaters — but Fred had already been killed, and more were going the same way._

_Before his companions could stop him, Ron emerged from the protection of the cloak and sprinted towards the screaming girl. It was a benefit of not being the Chosen One, Ron thought, to be expendable. Ron, unlike Harry, had every right to risk his life before the mission was accomplished._

_His nerves on fire, Ron darted through the skirmish like a squirrell through traffic, evading hollow suits of armor, flying debris, and green flashes of death materialized. When he arrived at the plinth, he froze in place, registering the image before him with his wand raised feebly._

_"Oh no..."_

_It was Lavender Brown, her legs still thrashing madly, her upper half obscured by a big grey shadow. Flashing green and red lights illuminated Lavender's assailant, a long, slender creature with a hunched back._

_Ron only hesitated for a second, but it had cost him, as the creature removed itself from Lavender and struck swiftly. Ron took aim with his wand, but halted his attack at the last second when the creature ducked under the line of fire, leaving Ron's wand pointed directly at Lavender — Ron adjusted his aim, but it was too late — a sharp pain tore through Ron's calf, and he let out a howl that was drowned out by the atmosphere of chaos all around him._

_Then, the creature was torn from Ron's leg by what felt like a gust of hot wind. Ron's breath hitched as he checked his wounded leg and saw a puffy, bleeding rend, but felt only the brisk sensation of the breeze that tickled the wound._

_When Ron looked back at the creature, his face contorted with disgust. Whatever it was, it had been mangled beyond recognition. Its head was bloodied and bashed and seeping blood onto the flagged stone floor. Smoky shards of glass splayed about its shoulders told Ron that the creature had been bombarded with several of Trelawney's crystal balls._

_Hermione Granger sprinted into view, and, aided by the constant flashes of emerald and scarlet, Ron noticed the sparkling of tears pooling in her eyes. Ron could barely stomach the concern he saw in those big dark eyes, but he managed to nod encouragingly to her._

_Hermione grabbed him around the middle and pulled him to the end of the hall. The injury in his leg was beginning to sting, but none too deeply, and did not command a limp. Just as he was pulled back under the Invisibility Cloak, Ron heard a very faint clicking. His ears had long since trained themselves to recognize this sound through fear, and this fear was scurrying in his direction._

_The clicking noise, which Ron knew to be the chomps of Acromantula pincers, was joined by the thunderous thuds of heavy footsteps from the other end of the hall. Ron pulled Hermione closer and braced himself, but before any troll or giant or spider could find him, he found himself somewhere else entirely._

Ron jolted awake in his bed, huffing quick and shallow breaths, his skin moist with sweat. He rubbed his eyes with his knuckles, as though he hoped to wipe the images of his nightmare from them. When he opened his eyes, he remembered that he was in his bedroom at the Burrow. Still panting, he glanced around at the wooden floor near his window, which had collected dust in his absence, to see a shard of moonlight shining through an opening in the curtains, then looked to his other side to see her.

Lying beside him in his bed, sound asleep, was Hermione Granger. Ron exhaled a sigh as he recalled arriving at the Burrow earlier that night with his friends and fellow soldiers, most of whom had slept through the day at the castle. He had eaten a bountiful amount of his mother's legendary cooking, which she had prepared vigorously in quiet tears while shooing away any assistance, though she had talked to Ron and Ginny all day. After dinner, Ron had followed Harry up the stairs to their room.

_"Are you alright, Harry?" asked Ron, slapping a hand onto Harry's shoulder. "Y'know, what with... d-dying and all that?"_

_"Never have had good etiquette speaking to dead people, have you?" joked Harry, but Ron looked mortified at the thought. "Honestly, Ron, I'm glad... it's all over..."_

_"But I've lost my brother... you've lost Dumbledore, Sirius, Lupin—"_

_"I'm aware, thanks. Can't dwell on that, Ron. Pity the living, not the dead."_

_Ron didn't reply._

_"Think of it this way: Fred died on what most people in the Wizarding world will consider to be the happiest day ever—the day it was all over—and he died to make it that way," Harry added nervously after a few moments of silence._

_"Small comfort that is," sighed Ron, but he was very grateful that Harry was trying to console him. It was unusual for Harry to do so, and Ron took it as a good sign. _

_They had reached the landing at the top of the stairs before Ron spoke again.. "Even Ginny's broken up... says she's going to sleep with Mum and Dad tonight."_

_"D'you reckon they'd mind if I slipped in there as well?" wondered Harry with a weak smile. Ron recognized the joke as another attempt to break the tension and appreciated it._

_"'Course not—in fact, they'd probably kick Ginny right off the edge to make room for you," said Ron distractedly, glancing down to the foot of the stairs; Hermione was approaching. "Sorry, mate, looks like you won't have anyone to share a bed with. I would suggest you try George but you should know he likes to cuddle..."_

_"What on Earth are you talking about?" asked Hermione as she reached them, her eyes puffy and red, which was a common sight in the Weasley household that night. Harry simply shook his head and entered Ron's room._

_"I can't," said Hermione as Ron gestured for her to follow. "Your mum's said I have to sleep in a room with Ginny tonight, per usual. I think she's heard about our—er—our kiss," she added, her cheeks growing even more red._

_"I won't have it in my house!" Ron feebly mimicked his mother's high voice, and Hermione smiled weakly._

_"That was my doing," said Harry, popping his head out through Ron's doorway. "Sorry about that. I thought it would lighten her mood. I think it worked."_

_"Wait until everyone's asleep, then come up." suggested Ron. Hermione nodded._

Ron sat in his bed contemplating this memory while looking Hermione up and down. He leaned down to plant a kiss just above her eyebrow and noticed the corner of her mouth curling into a smile. Ron returned it, and his thoughts wandered. She was so perfect, so elegant, so delicious. At that last thought, he winced. _What's wrong with me? _he thought. He shook his head lightly to rattle some sense back into his skull, then turned, laid back down, and dozed off.

_He must have enjoyed the night's dinner, he thought, if he were dreaming about it. He mindlessly gnawed on a large rib for whatever morsels he could scavenge. It was so dry and tough that Ron equated his efforts to an attempt at absorbing nutrients from a cigarette butt. However, he didn't want to stop. He heard nothing but the clacking of his teeth on the bone for a long time, then he felt a surge of strength, and the bone cracked under the force of his chomp, much to his surprise._

Ron fluttered awake once more and sat up dizzily. Taking another glance around his room, Ron found that not much had changed; it was still dark outside, and there remained a long, glowing polygon of moonlight shining onto the pale brown floor. Ron found the light rather captivating with its solid white glow, and stared for a moment before turning back to Hermione. She was lying still on her side, her only movement the slow expanding and shrinking of her chest as she breathed.

He eyed her light, pale pink lips with interest, and moved down from there, scanning her entire frame until he ended at the tip of her foot. _She has small hands and feet, _he thought to himself with a smile. He leaned forward to investigate her smooth shins, swallowing the excess of saliva that was pooling in his mouth. _Her skin is so soft, and her muscles are tender... _He felt like prodding her calves to test their firmness. _Wait, what am I doing?_

Ron shook his head roughly to snap himself back into consciousness. He looked down to see that he had clamped her knee in one hand and her ankle in the other, and his mouth, now seeping with drool, was inches from her calf. He almost swore with shock at his own actions, and quickly turned to see if she was awake. He observed her, once again, in peaceful slumber. She had not slept in nearly two days, after all.

Ron inched off of the bed, careful not to rock it too much, then tip-toed out of his room and down the stairs towards the toilet on the floor below. In his stride, his mind raced. He could not explain to himself why he was so hungry after a large meal, why the memory of grinding scraps of meat off of a thoroughly cleaned bone was gracing his dreams, and why he was just holding the leg of the nearest living thing as if it were that bone.

Ron arrived at the loo and gently eased the door open, cursing its loud squeak. He stalked forward on the edges of his feet and was careful to shut the door just as softly as he had opened it. Then he caught sight of his reflection in the mirror over the sink and flinched; he looked terribly ill. He had shadows under his bloodshot eyes, and his clammy skin was sunken in dimples at his cheeks, but he attributed this to fatigue, stress, and grief.

A distraction came when Ron heard voices down the hall. He moved away from the mirror and peeked out of the loo to see his father entering the room where George was staying.

Concerned, Ron crept down the hall and pressed himself against the wall, shifting very slightly so that he could see into George's room with one eye. George sat very still in his bed, staring blankly at the wall opposite him. Ron winced at the sight of his brother; George wore the scars of battle, most abundant on his hands, with shiny pink burns and open cuts where he had been clipped by a rogue shard of glass or grazed by a Dark spell.

Ron did not expect George to sleep well that night. He too had had trouble sleeping, no matter how tired he was. Ron remembered laying in his bed, talking to Harry, unable to fall asleep and unwilling to stay awake until Hermione arrived. Ron felt his insides twist just thinking about how George had lost the one person who could have helped him.

"George?" Ron heard his father say in a tentative tone that was usually saved for when his mother was angry. "Do you mind if I come in?"

"You're in," said George, who hadn't averted his unfocused gaze from the wall.

Ron watched his father sit down beside George and place a hand on George's shoulder.

"George, son, are you going to be all right?" he said.

"I don't know," George replied, in more of a rasp. "How's Mum?"

"Devastated, of course, as am I."

"Then why aren't you with her?"

"She's worried about you—we all are. We're afraid of what might happen to you," he added, wincing at his own words.

"_What?_" chuckled George, amused. "Oh, that's cute. What's going to happen, d'you reckon?"

Ron recoiled at George's humorless laugh, and watched as his father made to respond, but stopped and sniffed deeply.

"You've been drinking," he said.

"This is true," replied George, prodding a wobbly floorboard under the bed with his foot. "Our private reserve."

"We're afraid of what might happen if you can't let him go."

"Don't talk about him like that!" George snapped. Ron felt tears stinging his eyes, and quickly wiped them away and kept watching.

"He's gone, son. You have to accept it. But, in a way, he'll never be gone, not as long as we remember him. What's important now is that you don't lose control."

"Who cares? I feel like half a man now. You have no idea—"

"_We_ care. Everyone in this house cares about you. We're afraid of what you might do with yourself."

"With myself?" At this, George finally turned to look at his father.

"Well, that is to say—I mean, you and Fred have always been leagues ahead of your peers. You have potential that very few have shown at your age, and magic can be very hard to control when your emotions are strong enough."

George laughed again, and Ron feared he couldn't listen to much more of this.

"Great, Dad, I'm the next Dumbledore and you're afraid I'll drink myself into becoming the next Voldemort, is that it?"

"No, that's not what I was saying. I'm just saying that you can't bottle this up and refuse to face it. You can't—"

"Sorry, Dad, but I've finished with this conversation."

At that, a gust of wind blew in the direction of the door, encouraging his father to exit the room. Ron backed away from the door and hurried back to his room. As he shuffled up the stairs to his floor, he whiffed an incredible aroma coming from his room; something he had always known, but never noticed.

He found the source of the enticing scent in his room. He was drawn back to his bed where he gazed hungrily at the girl who lay curled peacefully in his blanket. Several thoughts raced through his mind, all concerning Hermione; holding, hugging, kissing, tasting, biting — _biting?_

Truthfully, Ron had thought about biting Hermione before, but always playful nibbling, not the kind that made his stomach growl. When it did, he realized he had been pacing quietly at the side of his bed for nearly a minute. Ron took a deep breath, and decided he could do with a fly; no one would notice if he returned before daybreak.

Unable to recall where he had left his broom, Ron decided to go grab Ginny's. He dreaded the shed where his family kept their broomsticks as it was infested with spiders, and he knew Ginny was stashing hers in her room, safe from sabotage at the hands of Fred and George. _Fred..._

Ron cleared his throat loudly and forced the thought of Fred from his mind. He tossed an orange Chudley Cannons shirt over his chest and snuck downstairs. The more stealthy his attempt, the louder the wooden planks seemed to squeal under his weight. When he opened Ginny's door silently, he could only see a head of exuberant crimson hair that resembled his own, which meant she was looking away, and he was free to lurk about her room.

Ron felt the familiar scent from before pass through his nostrils like a ghost as he passed the bed Hermione usually slept in. He tried to ignore it as he stepped into an open closet and rifled through the mess, trying to locate a broom. Several minutes later, all he had found was a small book Ginny had written in.

_Ginny's diary?_ thought Ron. _Didn't even know she kept one—never thought she'd be keen on diaries after what happened with Riddle... I'll get caught, but it's worth it._

Eager to lighten his mood, he flipped it open.

"Mum was in a lousy state tonight because of my pea-brained brothers. Why did she have to take it out on me? 'Tend to the yardwork, Ginevra, I won't have gnomes building a city in my garden!' I didn't do anything wrong. One of _them_ should have been made to do it. Or Harry. I love when Harry is on de-gnoming duty. His clothes are always overlarge and sometimes his pants fall down just a bit to reveal his hips—"

_So much for that, _thought Ron as he clamped the book shut and tossed it carelessly to the ground. Much too late, Ron realized that he had just made a mistake, as the resulting smack of the diary against the wooden floor sounded like a gunshot in the midst of his careful silence. Ron backed into the closet quickly, preparing to have Ginny jump to her feet, wand at the ready, but she only stirred.

"Phew," huffed Ron, crawling out of the closet.

Ron had only taken a few steps out of the closet when he was blindsided by a combination odd sensations. His skin was incredibly itchy, and sweat was beading rapidly on his arms; his bones were throbbing and felt as if they were softening; and his eyesight was degrading until he could only see in splotches of gray. He stumbled over the book, drew his wand and muttered a spell with his last usable breath. His face strained with focus as he concentrated on writing onto a blank page. He ripped the page out, dropped it in the center of the dark room and felt a cold, overpowering chill consume him, and blacked out.


	2. Mr Company Man

Disclaimer: I don't own anything that has to do with Harry Potter or have any association with its publishers or distributors and I do not profit from writing fanfiction.

* * *

_Oh what _is_ all that commotion?_ thought Percy Weasley. _Most of us have lost a brother or son, a friend at the very least, yet someone brazenly sets the unmitigated goal to slam doors and stomp through the hallway, as though that's appropriate!_

Percy sat up in his bed, sighing. He swung his legs over the side of his bed and stood to his feet before carefully retrieving his horn-rimmed glasses from a desk on the opposite side of the room. He stepped to his window and ripped the curtains open, only to be struck with a bright beam of sunlight. He covered his mouth as he yawned, despite being alone in his room; a good habit, he told himself, as he made his bed.

He finished with another sigh at the realization that he couldn't busy himself by tidying his room forever. The gears that ran his rational mind turned desperately as he tried to handle a grief that could not be quantified. He decided he needed advice from an expert, and, with a pang of pity, one name jumped to his head.

Percy slipped an ordinary white cotton T-shirt over his similarly colored skinny chest and walked through his room, which was as clean as a room could be in the Burrow. Thoughtful to skip a particularly noisy step on his way upstairs, he walked to Ron's room and took a deep breath to prepare for what he was about to do.

It was a room shared by two boys, so he needn't knock. He smoothly turned the doorknob and prodded the door open gently, poking his head in. He immediately found a wand nearly shoved up his nose, with Harry at the other end of it.

"How do I know it's really you?" asked Harry seriously.

"I'm a git," replied Percy just as seriously.

"Oh. Hello, Percy," said Harry. He stepped back and invited Percy in.

Percy followed Harry through a room as messy as the teenager's crow-black hair, and elected to stand as he was offered a seat on Harry's bed. Percy folded his arms over his chest before speaking.

"Harry, first, I'd like to apologize for misjudging you. I sent a letter to Ron a while ago warning him to stay away from you because of rumors that were being printed about you. I should have known they were—pardon my language—balderdash," said Percy; he ignored Harry's sniggering at his comment.

"It's alright, Percy," said Harry, disregarding the apology with a wave of his hand. "You were just looking out for your brother, in your own stupid way."

"I've come to talk to you because you've experienced quite a bit of loss in your life. You handle yourself well despite this, at least in front of me. How do you deal with it? I mean, how do you make the pain go away?" Percy asked, and Harry sensed the slightest hint of desperation sneaking past Percy's veil of composure.

"Er, you just have to wait, I suppose," said Harry, scratching his head nervously. "Sorry if that doesn't help you right now, but I can tell you some things I've learned. I know you were there when it happened, but no matter what happened, it wasn't your fault. It's easy to blame yourself, and it seems like it helps but it really doesn't. Trust me, it'll only take longer to get over it."

"All right, thank you... by the way, what's happened to Ron? Assuming Ron's finally made his move, the person that's filling only half of his bed must be Hermione." Percy smirked slightly.

"She made the move. 'Bout time, might I add. Did you check the loo?"

"He wasn't there when I came upstairs. He must have stayed up making all that noise last night."

After a moment's silence, the room's only door swung open with a loud metallic shriek of its hinges, and Percy had already drawn Harry's wand from the table, poised to curse the direction of the door. Ginny walked into the room slowly, hands raised in surrender, with one small, pale hand clutching a note.

"During my sixth year, and your first, you quite rudely burst into my quarters and found me in a... situation. What was I doing?" demanded Percy.

"You were getting off with some Ravenclaw girl, and I was genuinely shocked," replied Ginny hastily. "Put that thing away, there's no need to curse my head off!"

"The identification quizzes are meant to quickly and accurately gauge whether or not a person is who they say they are. They are not to be used to pick at one's personal life," said Percy icily. "Though, I'm sure you'll all be delighted to note that, while my bedpost may not display the level of amateur craftsmanship that can be found on the twins', you'll find that I've had my fair share of—"

Suddenly recalling the reason she came, Ginny quickly interrupted her brother, eliciting a scowl. "I've found something suspicious," she urged.

Ginny passed the note to Harry, ignoring her older brother's outstretched hand. Harry groped around his bedroom table, brushing aside a sneakoscope and an old broken quill to locate his glasses. He slid them over his ears and examined the note by the light of his wand.

_help im hurt_

_still safe_

_need to go_

_cant near Hermione_

Harry frowned and ran his eyes over the note repeatedly, stopping at the final letter which zig-zagged away. The note had been sketched jaggedly as if the writer was being poked in the elbow randomly throughout the process of scribbling the note. As he handed it over to Percy, he contemplated the words. 'Help, I'm hurt.' Harry nodded; that was evidenced by the jagged jumps in the writing. 'Can't go near Hermione.' Harry looked from Percy to Ginny and it was clear that all of them knew the note was likely written by Ron.

"Ginny, have you seen Ron at all since last night?" asked Harry quickly.

"No!"

"I'm certain this is his handwriting," Percy added. "I'd recognize this chickenscratch anywhere. He really should work on it."

Once they scoured the house and garden, with the occasional call of Ron's name, the three convened in the kitchen, sharing expressions of concern.

"We'd best wake everyone. The sooner we begin a search, the better our chances of finding him before he's gone, or," Percy gulped, "is taken far."

Ginny winced, but Harry remained alert, having been trained by his journey with Ron and Hermione to keep a level head even in times of crisis.

"Ginny, put the kettle on—we'll all need some fuel—and Percy, help me wake everyone up." At that, they jumped into action. Ginny searched for a large kettle while Percy and Harry dashed side-by-side to the stairwell.

Percy felt beads of sweat form on his forehead despite the cool morning air, and his eyes practically bulged with worry. He crashed through his parents' bedroom door to find an unwelcome sight. His mother and father were spooning, utterly nude, and noticeably awake.

"Ron's gone missing!" exclaimed Percy, cringing.

His mum and dad snapped to their feet and shuffled around for their clothes as Percy exited and closed the door loudly, eager to seal the room behind him.

"_It can't be unseen,_" shuddered Percy, before he moved on.

Harry arrived at the top of the staircase and spotted Hermione rising to her feet in the bed across from the door. She raised her wand at him, whipping it out from under her pillow.

"What did I say to you before you went on to stop Quirrell from taking the Philosopher's Stone?" she demanded.

"I don't know, something about bravery, but honestly you were just scared," replied Harry quickly. Hermione frowned, ready to dispute his claim, but Harry pressed on. "Ron's gone missing. Get dressed and come down to the kitchen."

Harry turned and shuffled down the stairs, purposefully echoing a rapid series of loud footsteps throughout the house to ensure everyone was awake. As he zoomed down the stairs, he passed George who had poked out of his room, clearly disgruntled.

"Pardon me, Chosen One, but if you want to remain the Boy Who Lived, you might want to find a way to shut up!"

"Ron's gone missing! Come down to the kitchen!" shouted Harry hastily as he sped by.

George promptly retreated to his room, shutting the door with a loud whack.

Harry arrived in the kitchen, which was crowded with concerned faces and sounded much too busy with pointless questions. Ginny was jogging about the room serving tea. Harry noticed Percy passing Ron's note to Mr. Weasley who examined it momentarily before it was snatched by a much more visibly troubled Mrs. Weasley.

Harry thought a bit of order might speed things up. "Did anyone see anything out of the ordinary last night?" he asked, scanning the room for reactions.

Percy nodded. "Someone was making a disturbing amount of noise. First, I heard a loud thud, like something had been dropped, then a while later someone slammed a door rather loudly."

Everyone noticed rapid footsteps as Hermione scurried down the stairs and into the kitchen, which was now bright with sunlight. Ginny quickly poured Hermione a cup of tea and offered her a seat, and Percy slid the note across the table to her, which she read with a whimper. Harry opened his mouth to speak again, but another set of footsteps echoed from the staircase behind him, and George strolled into the room calmly.

"Well that explains the noise, if it was Ron," mumbled George, visibly tired. "Sounded like he decided to cast a Wake-Everyone-in-the-Bloody-House Charm on the stairs. Maybe three trips total. That's one too many, and it means Ron never came back to his room."

"Maybe the Death Eaters are out for revenge, and took him," murmured Ginny quietly.

"I don't think so," Percy said quickly, spotting his mother's gasp. "The note says 'help, I'm hurt,' not 'help, I'm being attacked' or any other threat of danger. It also says 'still safe,' which is a considerably large indicator. The last sentence also suggests that there wasn't an intruder. 'Can't near Hermione.' Perhaps Ron was hit with a particularly strong curse yesterday, and it's affecting him still, and he thinks it's contagious?"

The room full of Weasleys considered Percy's suggestion, before Hermione thought of something.

"The clock—check the clock!" she urged, running to the next room. The Weasleys and Hermione followed and inspected the unique Weasley clock, searching for Ron's hand. Sighs of relief drowned the crowded room as Ron's hand was set to 'lost' and not 'mortal peril.'

"I've just thought of something else," said Percy, breaking the small moment of silent relief. "How did Ron leave? The doors were locked from the inside when we came down."

"My window was open," replied Ginny with a start. "And the note was in my room!"

A stampede of Weasleys lined up single-file and ascended the staircase, and Harry wondered if the stairs would hold as they complained with loud creaking noises. They were three short, however, leaving Harry, Hermione and George behind in the kitchen. Harry turned to Hermione and nodded toward the door. She nodded back and made for the exit. Their path curled around the house to the area outside Ginny's window.

"That's quite a long way down," said a voice from above them. Harry and Hermione looked up to see Ginny's head poking out of her window.

Harry could hear a light _hmm_ from Hermione. He felt comforted by her thoughtful composure, and hopeful that it meant she was on her way to figuring out what happened. He looked at her and she pointed to the ground, and that's when he noticed a large patch of grass under the window that had been flattened and dug up.

"Even if Ron landed flat on his arse, he couldn't have made this much of a disturbance," said Harry.

Hermione narrowed her eyes in thought, but soon agreed, "It is odd."

"Back to the kitchen!" bellowed Mr. Weasley from above, and Harry followed Hermione back to the kitchen quickly. As they arrived, Harry frowned, surveying the group of red-headed people before him. "Where's George?"

"He's probably gone to search," assured Percy.

"Speaking of a search, we've got to organize one," said Harry. "Percy, why don't you go to the Ministry, if they'll let you back in..." he couldn't help but smirk. "File a Missing Wizard Report."

"As long as Kingsley's there, I'm sure Percy is welcome," said Mr. Weasley as Percy who stepped out of the house and vanished with a loud _*crack*_.

"Ginny, please contact Bill and Fleur and see if Ron's gone there," directed Mr. Weasley, with no argument from Ginny, who left at once. "I'm going to nip by Ottery St. Catchpole, see if the Muggles saw any suspicious behavior. Might have to cover up some memories..."

"Mrs. Weasley, do you know where George could have gone?" asked Hermione carefully. Molly shook her head, brushing tears away from her eyes. Her hair was frazzled and she looked nearly deranged at this point.

"We should search upstairs for evidence," said Harry, who shot a glance at Hermione. She nodded for Harry to go on, and weakly tried to console Mrs. Weasley.


	3. Hangin' with Hagger

Disclaimer: I don't own anything that has to do with Harry Potter or have any relation to its publishers or distributors and I do not profit from writing fanfiction.

* * *

Harry flopped down onto his bed with a light thud, fixing an unfocused gaze at the ceiling, his mind racing. His brows furrowed in contemplation as he strained to remember anything he could from the previous night. All he came up with were vague memories of whispered endearments and smooching noises emanating from the bed across from his.

Ron's old wooden door flew open once again. Hermione stepped in, tears pooling around her eyes, and sat down. Harry hesitated, but soon flipped his arm over her, tugging her closer to him and began consoling her as he had seen Ron do throughout the previous year.

"It'll be alright," he assured.

Hermione sniffed.

"Have you found anything?" she finally asked, in a tone barely above a whisper.

"Nothing. Have you?"

"St. Mungo's has no record of Ron checking in—" Hermione was interrupted by a voice from downstairs. "Come down here!"

Harry jolted to his feet and left the room, skidding down the stairs with Hermione in tow. He arrived in the kitchen to find Mrs. Weasley, who gestured to an old-fashioned radio cabinet near the sink. Mrs. Weasley regularly tuned in to hear the musical stylings of Celestina Warbeck using this radio to entertain herself as she cooked.

Harry heard the familiar voice of his friend and fellow Gryffindor, Lee Jordan: "If you're just tuning in, I repeat, _Lord Voldemort is dead! _Fallen, at the hands of Harry Potter! The duel that ended the war! Voldemort and his Death Eaters made their assault on Potter, whom the Ministry of Magic have dubbed Undesirable No. 1, yesterday under cover of night—Hogwarts School was the battle space!"

Lee covered the key points of the Battle, from the evacuation of students all the way to Harry's return, and Voldemort's downfall. Lee's professional composure shook during the broadcast, many of the news reports being hard to swallow for anyone involved. Harry, Hermione, and Mrs. Weasley stared at the radio as Lee rapidly released information.

"We're receiving reports left and right, they're all piling up here ... Minister Thicknesse dead, Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt appointed interim minister ... uprisings of Death Eater supporters in eastern Europe, several foreign ministers forced into hiding ... complete seizure of Death Eaters by the Auror Department ... brutal acts of vengeance against Death Eater families occurring through the night ... reports of compromised Ministry departments, government in a state of chaos, citizens are urged to remain calm...

"Confirmed death of the defenders of Hogwarts include Nymphadora Tonks, Remus Lupin who broadcasted with us under the pseudonym _'Romulus'_, Colin Creevey, our own Fred Weasley, a.k.a._ 'Rapier_' ..."

Lee hesitated for a second, and exhaled a loud sigh before continuing through a very long list of fallen friends. "Last on the list is former Hogwarts headmaster and suspected Death Eater Severus Snape. He was on our side the whole time, ladies and gentlemen, and helped Potter personally.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we have just received word from former Ministry Assistant Percy Weasley that Ron Weasley, a member of the trio that stopped Lord Voldemort himself, went missing from his home late last night and is possibly injured. You might already know who he is, but for those who don't, be on the lookout for a tall, gangly, skinny ginger-haired boy with a large nose, ghostly white skin, patches of freckles and a face like a frying pan."

Harry couldn't suppress his sniggering at that final portion of Lee's description, but soon stopped as the ladies in his company shot him cold looks. Mrs. Weasley gently cranked the volume dial and Lee's voice faded slowly as he began to mention Kingsley Shacklebolt's appointment as Minister of Magic.

"Hmm," hummed Hermione. "Perhaps he returned to Hogwarts?"

* * *

Sunlight stretched over the scorched grounds of Hogwarts as Argus Filch, the grungy old Hogwarts caretaker, hobbled across the magically mown grass, casting a long, slender shadow to his side. Filch was followed closely and loyally by a large cat whose lamplike eyes glistened and blazed like jewels in the sun. With a crooked swagger, Filch slowly approached a small hut near the edge of the forest. The twigs that comprised the hut's roof had been burnt to a crisp, but still the hut stood, presumably having been bandaged by magic.

Filch banged his knobby knuckles on the wooden door a few times, shaking it in place and eliciting an alarm in the form of a barking dog.

"Quiet, Fang!" shouted a deep voice from within the hut. "Out 'er the way!"

The door ripped open to reveal a humongous bearded man in a moleskin coat wielding a crossbow and taking aim at the doorway cautiously. After a moment, he lowered the weapon and took a few earthshaking steps back into his house, waving a gigantic inviting hand to the caretaker. As the cat followed Filch into the hut, Fang the dog, who was barking ferociously moments prior, retreated to a corner, whimpering quietly under the cat's gaze.

"'Ello, Hagrid," mumbled Filch.

"Mornin', Argus," said Hagrid brightly. "How can I help yeh?"

"Somethin's been creepin' 'round the grounds... helped itself to a Grindylow down by the lake..." grumbled Argus Filch, chewing on nothing as he spoke. "Found the skeleton on me patrol just now, with big dog tracks in the sand... Perhaps _you_ could explain it, eh?"

"Not sure what yer suggestin', but I haven't bin' keepin' any more Fluffies around, n' Fang ain't one fer huntin'."

Filch growled quietly in reply, scanning Hagrid's features with his beady eyes, considering him.

"Perhaps a werewolf's bin' loose or summat," Hagrid continued. "Tell yeh what, I'll go lookin' next full moon."

Filch grunted in agreement and turned to leave, leaving Mrs. Norris to shoot a suspecting glare at Hagrid before she followed.

* * *

The old, shabby wooden door of the Hog's Head pub swung open, kicking a puff of dust up from the ground. In walked a tired-looking red-headed young man, whose eyes were hopelessly blank. He took a few steps toward the counter in no hurry, and plopped down onto a wobbly metal stool that was bolted to the floor near the bar. The young man leaned onto the counter, crossed his arms, and glanced at the grizzled barman who was in the futile process of cleaning a dirty glass with a dirtier rag. The barman glanced back at him with his piercing stare.

"Never figured you for a loyal customer," grunted Aberforth.

"I guess I'm no longer up to the job of being life of the party," replied George as he signalled for a drink. "None of the weak shit, please."

Aberforth grunted and obliged, pouring some honey-colored liquid into a grimy glass and sliding it to George across the battered bar.

"You interested in some cauldrons?" asked a voice from the stool next to George as he downed the drink. "Dirt cheap, and I've got plenty..."

"Not now, Willy," sighed George. "And go tell Mundungus to return the Black family heirlooms he pilfered during the battle."

"'Ow d'you know about that?"

"I've got my ear to the ground." George gulped down another glass of amber liquid. "And don't cross me today."

"I'm not your messenger," growled Willy. "You sure you don' want any? Nice n' thick bottoms, too."

"Piss off." George raised his hand for another drink. Willy got up and made to leave. "Actually, we'll talk later about that," George added.

"Why can't that blighter deal his leaky scraps at the Three Broomsticks?" grunted Aberforth.

"Rosmerta would bludgeon him with a bottle of mead," replied George absentmindedly, staring down into his drink. "Have you seen Ron around here per chance?"

"The tall one that eats first and asks questions later? Haven't seen 'em."

"A'course, Ron much prefers the Three Broomsticks to this place—you just haven't got the proportions to compete with Madam Rosmerta."

"Yeah, well..." Aberforth spit into a nearby bucket and returned to his attempt at washing glasses.

"Actually, if you'll excuse me," said George, flicking Aberforth a Galleon. "I'm going over there instead, they might distract me."

* * *

It was a quiet night, and its peaceful silence was fully welcomed by the residents of Hogsmeade. Not far from the village, Rubeus Hagrid, Gamekeeper at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, sat in his small hut enjoying a tooth-cracking rock solid fruitcake of his own creation. Hagrid's home was lit by a large fire, giving it the appearance of a jack-o-lantern in contrast to the darkness of the Forbidden Forest behind it. After subjecting himself to another cake crunching ordeal, Hagrid happened to glance out of a lopsided window to see the moon—the whole moon, in the cloudless sky.

"That'll be the full moon, Fang," said Hagrid dolefully. "Best get goin', unless yeh fancy Filch payin' us another visit."

Before Filch's suspicions, Hagrid had been unable to shake his good mood since the fall of Voldemort, though naturally it came splintered with sadness at his recollections of his fallen friends. Hagrid rose to his full, extreme height and beckoned his boarhound to the door. He took his crossbow from its place on the table and crouched under the doorway of his hut, setting down a dirt path to the forest.

Hagrid led a careful trek into the depths of the forest with Fang following close at his side, the result of a mixture of loyalty and fear. When they neared the heart of the forest, Hagrid saw movement; peculiar, thought Hagrid, as the forest's best predators were too stealthy to be detected until after you've been killed. Barely able to see his own hand in front of his face, Hagrid was unable to identify the shadow that approached him as he cautiously wielded his crossbow.

"Whosat?" demanded Hagrid. "Whosere?"

"I am called Deralon," said a voice so deep and calm that Kingsley Shacklebolt would be envious. "I lead the Centaur dominion."

"Dominion? Yeh still ain't on 'bout that are yeh?"

"Humans are not permitted to travel within our forest," continued Deralon as if Hagrid had said nothing at all.

"Where's Magorian? Ronan? Thought they—"

"They have parted ways with my troop. They now reside in the forest at the other end of Hogsmeade. As I say, human, you are not permitted to enter this forest."

"Yeah, I heard all that before. I came here lookin' fer a beast. A canine, judgin' by its tracks. Massive dog if it is, though."

"A dog?" asked Deralon, sounding merely annoyed.

"A werewolf, most likely."

"Werewolves seldom venture this close to the forest's edge, and never onto your lands."

"Well, that's the problem, innit?"

"Watch yourself, human. I will notify our guard. In the meantime, you will leave. You won't come back," said Deralon. Then, he promptly turned away and retreated whence he came in a swift gallop.

"Ruddy fools, them," mumbled Hagrid to Fang as he began his return trip.

The center of the forest was an obstacle course of logs, roots, and brush, but nothing impeded Hagrid's disgruntled march as he grumbled about the Centaurs' false sense of supremacy. He was expertly weaving his way through trees and rocks when Fang bellowed an alarming bark.

Hagrid looked left and right, and there he saw it; a massive quadrupedal creature, tall enough to look Hagrid in the eye if it stood on its hind legs. Hagrid reached into one of his many pockets, not for his crossbow, but for a small pink umbrella. He held it like a torch and whispered "_Lumos,_" causing the tip of the umbrella to shine a pale white light, illuminating both himself and the creature.

It had the appearance of a very thin bear; it was tall and skinny with arms longer than its legs, and the thumbs on its paws were opposable. It had the head of a wolf, but the shoulders and musculature of a fur-covered man. The brown depth of its fur was broken by scars, and it had no shortage of them. Some around its torso were smooth lines while others were hideous, jagged rips. One particularly large line cut through one of its shoulders, giving the appearance of welding marks on metal. Its shoulder blades shifted up and down as it slowly prowled closer.

Hagrid stepped in front of Fang protectively, gazing at what was unmistakably a werewolf. He frowned, however, at what happened next; the beast didn't strike or charge, but simply stopped in its tracks and sat down before Hagrid without making a noise. Its bright blue eyes stared into Hagrid's and gleamed in the wandlight, and had no clear intention of intimidation.

"What's yer name?" inquired Hagrid unsurely. The creature did not move but to breathe.

"I know yer not a proper werewolf, 'cause yeh'd be rippin' me ter shreds right now if yeh were!" joked Hagrid. The creature did not respond, but sat lower, into a sphinx position. "A'course everythin's jus' a twist o' fate these days."

"An animagus, maybe? Forgive me, will yeh?" Hagrid pointed his umbrella directly at the creature. It flinched, but did not transform as he expected. "Well, I'm beat. I'm guessin' yer some sort a' Wolf-Man.

"Well, yeh gotta have a name, and if yeh can't talk yeh can't tell me yer name. How 'bout... Gladimus? That'll be it," said Hagrid, now more cheerful. "Here, a peace offerin'."

Hagrid withdrew a soggy, unappetizing sausage from one of his pockets and gingerly placed it near the creature's snout. The creature dropped something on the ground to free its mouth before snapping its jaws shut over the treat. Hagrid glanced at the discarded object. It was a ring.

"Plannin' ter propose, are yeh?" teased Hagrid with a smile, but his smile soon faded at the sound of many galloping hooves approaching. The Wolf-Man snatched the ring off the ground with its mouth, offered one more glance to Hagrid, then to Fang, and dashed off into the forest's black abyss.

"Not sure what ter make o' that," said Hagrid to himself as he made his way back home.


	4. The Battle Axe Bandits

Disclaimer: I don't own anything that has to do with Harry Potter or have any relation to its publishers or distributors and I do not profit from writing fanfiction.

* * *

The sun was just peeking out over the land, already vanquishing the darkness from Diagon Alley. George Weasley walked, unyielding, down the middle of the main road. He had grown accustomed to his environment regarding him and changing around him to suit him. Inanimate objects would hastily scurry out of his path as if afraid, drops of rain would concede before reaching him, and smoke would work not to obstruct his vision. This change in the effect of his presence caused him to consider his father's words of praise regarding his abilities.

George set his eyes on Weasley's Wizard Wheezes and felt the full blast of life's injustice. His brother had worked his whole life to realize this dream, only to die after having enjoyed only 1 year of it.

"But what did the Death Eaters know of work?" muttered George. "Criminals and heirs. Nancies. They couldn't beat Fred... It was a cheap shot—by chance, a piece of debris did him in—by accident. Ridiculous."

George's indignant expression faded as he came across a group of young wizards and a young witch standing outside of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, shooting him curious looks while engaged in excited conversation. They couldn't have been in Hogwarts yet, they were so young. First years at the most, though George hoped that wasn't the case. '_What a first year to have,_' he thought to himself before approaching them.

"You're George Weasley!" exclaimed a blonde young wizard with a wet-looking crew cut and a formidable jaw.

"It's pronounced 'hor-hay' if you please," replied George, and it was his first smile since the death of his brother.

"I told you he was a joker," said the boy to his friends.

"Are you here to open the shop?" inquired an adorable little witch with slightly chubby cheeks and wavy auburn hair. "I'd heard that you'd gone mad and started calling yourself Gorgoth The Tiger."

"I heard that you'd locked yourself in your room and when you came out you would only wear dresses and wigs and stuff," said a lanky young wizard that was a head taller than his friends and had a shaved head, big ears, and buck teeth.

"Shut up, guys, let the man speak!" said the blonde boy who had recognized George. George supposed he was the leader.

"I assure you, whatever rumors you've heard are complete fabrications. Except the whole Gorgoth thing, that's one hundred percent accurate," joked George, his smile widening. "Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes will be up and running in no time."

"Cool!" said the blonde boy. "I'm Sherman Roque—people call me Roque—and we're the Battle Axe Bandits, us four."

"Catchy name," remarked George.

"This is Simon Beech, but we call him Munky," said Roque, gesturing towards the tall boy with the shaved head. On second thought, George noticed that he did resemble a monkey.

"And this is Adrian Starr, a.k.a. Blackboot," said Roque, pointing to the gaunt-faced boy with wild black hair, then to his black boots. George was reminded instantly of his fallen friend and relative, Sirius Black.

"And this is—" Roque began.

"I'm Elena Summers, and I think nicknames are quite immature," interrupted the girl with auburn hair.

"We call her Ellie, whether she likes it or not." explained Roque. "Anyways, when is the re-opening?"

"I don't know... soon, I expect... Hey, do you have a quill on you, and some parchment?"

Roque tapped the tall boy, Munky, on the shoulder, and he gladly provided George with the supplies.

"Save these," said George as he drew a 4 small logos on the slip of parchment and tore it to 4 pieces before distributing them to the Bandits. Below each logo was George's signature. "Come back soon, Bandits, for all of your mischief related needs."

"What are these for? Will we get a discount?"

"No, they contain a curse. You will explode if you miss the re-opening."

George smiled, and could tell that the none of the Bandits were sure of whether or not he was joking.

George walked past them and into the store. As he walked through the store which was now cleaning and correcting itself by his will, his taste of a good mood soon died. He regretfully recalled the day-to-day with Fred as they ran the store, and how enjoyable Fred made work. His thoughts also drifted to his best friends Angelina Johnson and Lee Jordan as he hauled himself up the stairs that led to the flat he onced shared with Fred. He hadn't properly considered it, but the prospect of facing the scene was becoming more and more daunting with every step. By the time he reached the door, he wanted nothing more than to throw himself down the stairs he had just climbed.

He closed his hand over the doorknob as he had done casually at least a thousand times before, though this time was like no other. He turned the knob and eased the door open. There, he saw exactly what he knew he'd see: Fred's messy bed, lying there as if Fred had just gone down to breakfast. George let himself fall over it, rested still and prayed for sleep.


	5. The Tale of Gladimus

Disclaimer: I don't own anything that has to do with Harry Potter or have any relation to its publishers or distributors and I do not profit from writing fanfiction.

* * *

"Hey, you lot!" exclaimed Hagrid in a jolly roar, motioning for them to enter his house. As Hagrid turned to command Fang to stop barking, Harry entered Hagrid's small home and couldn't help but smile; it had been a symbol of safety and warmth during his six years at Hogwarts. He was flanked by two troubled-looking girls, Hermione Granger and Ginny Weasley, who sat next to him at Hagrid's table as he served them cakes they couldn't hope to destroy with their most powerful curses, let alone their teeth.

"Hello Harry, Hermione, Ginevra—"

"Ginny, please," corrected Ginny automatically.

"Oh, sorry."

"Hagrid, are you aware that Ron's gone missing?" asked Harry as he feigned interest in a rock cake. Hagrid's beetle-black eyes widened. "Oh, no, he's not hurt or anything!"

"No, I wasn't," said Hagrid slowly. "When'd that happen?"

"The night after the war ended," said Hermione. "He was fine the night of the battle, but when I woke up, he'd left a note and gone."

"Well that's no good," said Hagrid. "Wait, yeh were in the same bed?"

Hermione's jaw dropped and her cheeks reddened instantly. Ginny almost managed to stifle her sniggering as Harry smirked with the twinkle of mischief in his eyes.

"Oh yes," said Harry. "And they didn't care that I was in the room either."

"Oh, shut up!" cried Hermione, though she was showing the faintest hint of a smile. "This is serious."

"I don't know what ter say 'bout Ron, I'll keep an eye out fer him, jus' hope he ain't wanderin' 'round the forest. The Centaurs are gettin' carried away wit' all this 'no humans allowed' rubbish, and they're good n' riled with me a'course."

"Who would want to go in there anyway?" asked Ginny.

Hagrid looked scandalized. "The forest's great! Never know what yer gonna find in there—jus' the other night I met a Wolf-Man."

"A Wolf-Man?" asked Harry. "Hagrid, you teach Care of Magical Creatures, you should know the proper term is 'werewolf.'"

"Looked like one, but can't have bin'. Didn't attack me, see, jus' sorta came up n' said hello," said Hagrid brightly.

"He could talk?" asked Ginny.

"Er, well, y'see... No, but he wasn't hostile, not one bit. Plus he was carryin' a ring. What manner a' wild beast goes 'round carryin' a ring? Must be some sorta race o' Wolf-Men livin' in the forest, gettin' married n' havin' Wolf-Man babies," sang Hagrid adoringly.

"Did this ring have a stone?" asked Harry.

"Yeh, matter o' fact it did," said Hagrid. "Yeh met Gladimus, did yeh?"

"_Gladimus?_" repeated Ginny with a giggle.

"Well, he's gotta have a name, don' he, _Ginevra_?" said Hagrid. Ginny's laughter died.

"Can you tell us any more about him?" asked Harry.

"Wasn't a very long conversation, seein' as he couldn't talk. He had brown fur and looked like he'd seen his fair share a' fights, scars and all. I could take yeh ter see him, if we can find him, that is."

"No thanks, Hagrid," said Harry, with a bit of disappointment in his tone. "We've got to go look for Ron."

* * *

Sunlight was prickling through the foliage of the Forbidden forest, but Ron Weasley sat in complete darkness. The shadows were his to control with a small silver device he inherited from the man he considered to be the greatest wizard of all time. It was through the use of this gadget that he had avoided detection by the barbarous Centaur troop patrolling the area.

_I hate camping,_ he thought. He couldn't return to his friends and family permanently, not after he had found himself moments away from devouring the leg of someone with whom he had been friends for 7 years. On the night of the full moon, he found himself fantasizing about carnage.

So he sat against a tree trunk, his head drooping down and resting on his shoulder. He had almost drifted off to sleep when a dim light broke through the darkness, appearing as a warm red tinge on his eyelids. He opened his eyes, alert, and widened them even more at what he saw.

"Morning, Ronnie," said Fred Weasley, looking more different from his twin than ever not just by his two whole ears, but by the carefree demeanor which George had lost.

"Get the fuck out of here, Fred," said Ron slowly.

"Some welcome!" huffed Fred. "It was not by my hand that I was given life. I was summoned, by you!"

"Now I've really lost it," Ron murmured, burying his head in his hands.

"Fine, I'll just be going," said Fred airily. "I've got some dead person things to do anyway."

"Shut up!" Ron exclaimed, running his fingers through his hair. "Just—hang on!"

Ron expertly controlled the magic of the Deluminator, creating a dome of stolen light within the protection of his patch of darkness on the edge of the forest, which he had extended to a mile-long radius for safety. He shifted away from the tree trunk and blindly sifted his fingers through the dirt on which he had just sat, until —

"Aha!" he said, holding up a small black stone. "I'm not going mental after all! But that—that means it's really you, Fred!"

Ron looked up and his face fell; Fred was gone.

"How do you use this thing?"

Ron tried to remember how Harry described the method, and turned the stone over in his hand three times. Another dim light flickered in front of Ron, but it was not Fred. In the light of the Deluminator and his own holograph-like self, the image of Remus Lupin observed Ron tall and pale, just as he remembered, but frowned as he noticed Ron's chin stubble, ravenous expression, and eyes that displayed a desperate hunger.

"P-professor Lupin?" asked Ron weakly, never having used the Stone before.

"Remus, Ron. Do you need something?" replied Lupin, looking as though he knew the answer.

Ron shifted uncomfortably. "Yeah, I reckon I've got the same problem as you now."

"I can tell," said Lupin, furrowing his brow in concern. "We have ways of recognizing our own kind, and you're looking rather peaky, which means you've recently transformed."

"It's actually just happened the night of the battle."

"Oh dear—do you think—"

"No!" assured Ron, "It was Greyback, I'm sure of it, because when I saw your body, your face was still intact. Hermione with me and all..."

For a moment, Ron saw or possibly imagined a flash of a grin skate past Lupin's expression.

"Why have you summoned me?" he finally asked.

"Well..." Ron was about to reveal that he did not summon Lupin on purpose, but stopped himself; he did not want Lupin to leave as Fred had. "You know, advice, on how you managed. You had a life, with a wife and child—he'll be fine, by the way, Harry's told me he's going to visit him every week." Ron seemed eager to sidetrack the conversation.

"That's wonderful news," said Lupin, beaming. "As for your problem, I don't know what to say. You saw how I was, and Harry convinced me to stay... it's hard to shake the feeling that my friends and family would have been better off not knowing a werewolf," said Lupin honestly. "But you, I'm happy to say, will be much better off. You've been infected at a mature age, and some werewolves have been leading normal lives since the advent of Wolfsbane. Growing up with the curse changed me, but you... I assure you, in time, you'll only have to deal with it one day of the month."

"But this is hell! I wanted to eat my friends when I was transforming, then I just blacked out. I woke up in the forest and I couldn't remember what I'd done, and I wasn't sure that I hadn't acted on my... cravings." Ron grimaced. He found that he didn't mind sharing this personal information with Lupin, whether it was because he too was a werewolf or because he was deceased.

"I know," said Lupin softly.

"I get the feeling the dead don't like to be bothered."

"We 'dead' tend not to concern ourselves with the mortal world. If that sounds rude, I apologize."

"Right, sorry, I've been told I always had poor etiquette with dead people."

"Any more questions?"

"Yeah, do you know if it can be, er, beaten, or controlled?"

"Every werewolf is different, and it is possible. In fact, there was one occasion not too long ago when Sirius helped me prevent a transformation for an hour until I could find my potion. He was saying something about the heart of the man in my heart, something like that.

"I'm sorry, Ron, but that's the last question I'm willing to—Ah! I'd almost forgot, I've actually got one for you," he practically sang.

"What is it?"

"Is it official?" asked Lupin with an uncharacteristic simper. "With Hermione Granger, that is?"

"Oh, yeah," murmured Ron, the tips of his ears flushing red. "We had a snog during the battle—oh, but not while you were dying—er, I mean, while people were fighting—we snogged before the battle, that is."

"The battle, you say? Drat. I had you two pegged for last year. We had quite the pool going at the Order."

"Bloody hell," breathed Ron, a grin spreading over his beet-red cheeks. "You were betting on whether Hermione and I would get together?"

"_When_ you would get together, yes_._ We rather needed something to improve our morale," Lupin added defensively.

"Who won?"

"Dumbledore, of course." Lupin shook his head with a weak smile. "I'll have to inform him. Arrogant as they come, Dumbledore, but very rightly so, of course.

"Could you do me a favor?" asked Lupin with a tone that suggested he was wrapping things up. Ron nodded.

"Bury the stone and don't note where. It really shouldn't exist."

"I will, but... how—how can I talk to Fred?" asked Ron. "I wanted him here again, but he didn't turn up."

Lupin closed his eyes and drew a deep breath, then sighed and looked at Ron.

"Don't talk to your brother," he said. Ron narrowed his eyes. "No, listen to me, you really have enough to deal with as it is. As your teacher—as your fellow, I strongly advise against it. Please get rid of the stone."

Ron glared at Lupin for a moment, his mind racing. Ultimately it was his recollection of the effect the Mirror of Erised had on Harry all those years ago, and Dumbledore's warning about men wasting away in front of it, that pushed Ron to his decision.

"I'll darken everything and bury it after you go," he promised the image of his former professor.

Lupin nodded, still looking somber.

"Goodbye, Ron, and good luck."

Ron nodded in return and, at that, Lupin faded away as if he'd evaporated. Ron flicked his thumb across the Deluminator, absorbing the orbs of light that illuminated his vicinity and began to dig into the soil below him with his bare hands, unable to see the exact location in the darkness.


	6. Jungle Lovin'

Disclaimer: I don't own anything that has to do with Harry Potter or have any relation to its publishers or distributors and I do not profit from writing fanfiction.

* * *

The Weasley family sat to dinner at a large old wooden table that had been cluttered with so many plates of food that the actual table was no longer visible from above, an occurrence Harry attributed to Mrs. Weasley's stress. Two people were absent. Harry Potter and Hermione Granger sat in the room shared by Harry and Ron. Its messiness was an unhappy reminder of Ron.

The two friends slouched on the same bed and occasionally made eye contact when they'd had an idea regarding Ron's whereabouts. Harry exhaled every other breath in a quiet whistle, earning him an unnoticed scowl from Hermione each time. Harry was hesitant to embrace and comfort Hermione after the events of the Horcrux hunt that led up to the destruction of the locket in the Forest of Dean. Now keen to Ron's paranoia about Hermione and himself, Harry didn't want to deal with a scene should Ron walk through the door.

As Harry's eyes swept the room during their fiftieth scan for clues, their gaze happened upon a glimmer of light under Ron's bed. Without standing, he slid off of the bed he was sitting on and crawled to Ron's.

"What are you doing?" Harry heard Hermione ask behind him.

Harry reached for the shining spot of light and wrapped his hands around a smooth, polished wooden stick. He pulled it from the darkness and stood up to inspect it as Hermione approached curiously. Harry recognized it immediately as half of a broken broomstick by its shape, and the word 'Cleansweep' engraved on its side.

"Could Ron have hurt himself flying?" asked Harry, handing the bit of wood to Hermione.

"I don't think so—that doesn't explain why he's not keen to go anywhere near me. Besides, look at this!" Hermione pointed to several human teeth marks on the broken edge of the broom.

"That raises more questions than it answers," said Harry with a confused frown.

After a moment of silence, Hermione's eyes widened and Harry could see the gears turning in the mind behind them; then, she slapped both hands over her mouth and gasped.

"What is it?" asked Harry.

"That Wolf-Man Hagrid met. _It was Ron!_" breathed Hermione.

Harry stopped for a moment to consider Hagrid's description of the Wolf-Man. "Covered in scars, yes, that fits. Not so much the 'covered in fur' part, though. I mean, being a humanoid wolf is contradictory to a general description of Ron's appearance, isn't it?" he joked, hoping Hermione had a bit more to go on.

"During the battle, Ron was attacked by a monster—a horrible cut on his leg—perhaps the attacker was Fenrir Greyback?" said Hermione urgently. Harry's eyes widened just as Hermione's had moments earlier.

"He can't be; Hagrid said it wasn't a werewolf."

"He said it looked like one. That's why he wasn't attacked, because Ron recognized him."

"No, that's where you're wrong." Harry sighed his relief, as if the matter were closed. "Werewolves will attack their best friends if they come across them, they've no control."

"Consider all of the clues, Harry." Hermione's tone was more convinced, despite Harry's point. "That's why Ron chewed up his broomstick, that's why he couldn't come near me, and that's why the note was so short and messy."

"Alright, we'll check it out in the forest," said Harry in resignation. "Sounds like a terrific lark to mosey around the forest and risk life and limb, but, as it's all we've got..."

_*crack*_

* * *

"Glad ter see yer still takin' an interest in Magical Creatures," said Hagrid proudly as he, Harry, and Hermione entered the abnormally dark and eerie Forbidden Forest. "Grubbly-Plank ain't gonna show yeh nuthin' like this—in fact, I reckon it's just me that's ever seen one."

"Doesn't it have to be the night of a full moon?" complained Harry.

"I already told yeh, he's not a werewolf. Ter tell the truth, I've bin' lookin' fer some friends lately. After losin' Aragog n' Dumbledore, yeh know, it's tough," murmured Hagrid; he gave a great sniffle and looked to be moments away from taking out his large handkerchief.

"Oh, Hagrid," said Hermione thickly. "We think that Ron's become a werewolf and that's who you met."

"Ron and Gladimus? One'n the same? S'at why yeh asked ter see him?"

"I wanted to see the Wolf-Man when you first told us about him," assured Harry. "But we were busy searching for information on Ron."

"Oh, well, that could be, I s'pose."

As they trudged further in the direction of where Hagrid met Gladimus, the forest canopy overhead grew thicker and darker, until Harry, Hermione, and Hagrid could no longer see anything but each other. The group stopped as they heard the thumping patter of several oncoming hooves. They quickly turned, not seeing, but feeling the presence of a battalion of armed Centaur guards rushing past them. A particularly heavy and menacing Centaur stopped by them, his eyes narrowed to slits as he bared his teeth in Hagrid's direction.

"Hello, Deralon," said Hagrid unsurely.

"I warned you, sasquach, that humans are not welcome in our forest," growled Deralon. "One of our young has been attacked. She is severely wounded. We are hunting for the assailant, so I haven't the inclination to deliver the punishment you so truly deserve for trespassing. Leave now, and do not return!"

At that, Deralon sped off, followed by a sea of Centaurs that shoved Harry, Hermione and Hagrid apart in their haste. When the stampede had passed, Harry could no longer see his friends. He couldn't see anything, in fact, as he found himself in a darkness even thicker than before, unable to see any light prickling through the trees above.

Elsewhere, Hermione walked carefully, feeling every step experimentally before placing her weight onto it. She couldn't see anything, not even the light of her wand. Just as quietly as it had come, the darkness disappeared behind her, though it appeared more as if what little light the forest provided had flickered back on like a faulty lamp.

She hadn't distanced herself more than 10 feet from the darkness when a rather large hand clamped over her mouth, while another gripped her stomach and pulled her backwards. She let out a shriek that was muffled into a vibration by the hand as she was pulled into a tight grasp. Then she smelled him. Either her attacker had dabbed Amortentia behind his ears or it was Ron Weasley.

After a few seconds and quick breaths into Ron's hand, Hermione was released softly. She turned around and winced at the sight of him. His face was even more pale than usual and lined with creases as if he hadn't slept in days. He let his mouth hang open, exposing slightly gnarled yellow teeth. As she glanced down, she saw that he was shirtless. His torso was a wasteland of scar tissue and pale skin, with few freckles left. Smooth, clean, wavy lines as faint as red burns joined the clutter of jagged, sharp cuts, melted and burned tissue, and ashy bruises.

The bruises had to have been new, she figured. She had recognized most of the cuts and lines from the incident at the ministry during their fifth year at Hogwarts and the Horcrux hunt. With a bit of guilt, she noticed small scrapes along his shoulders and chest, gifts from her birds during their sixth year.

"Hey!" barked Ron, snapping her out of her investigative trance. She realized she must have been staring for a full minute.

"Are you ogling my nipples?" Ron asked with a grin.

Hermione couldn't help but allow a smile to form from cheek to cheek, feeling a familiar wetness in the corners of her eyes.

"Where's your shirt?" she finally asked.

"Oh—er..." Ron hesitated. "It's a long story."

"Hold on, I'll have to send a beacon for Harry," said Hermione, pointing her wand to the sky and shooting red sparks directly upwards from its tip. Before they could travel far, their path curved back downwards towards a small silver cigarette lighter in Ron's hand.

"If Harry comes here, he'll just want to convince me to go back home," said Ron in response to Hermione's confused stare.

"What do you mean? Aren't you coming back? You can't simply stay here in the forest!"

"I can't come back. I can't put everyone in danger like that. I wanted to eat—" Ron hesitated. "Harry. Almost took a bite out of him."

"You can take Wolfsbane potion to retain control. Lupin lived a normal life with Tonks," said Hermione. "And his friends," she added quickly, her cheeks reddening.

"Lupin knew when he would transform," grumbled Ron.

"What?" breathed Hermione.

"Werewolves are only supposed to transform on scheduled nights of the full moon, aren't they? Something about the lunar cycle—I don't know, I didn't pay much attention in class, because Snape was filling in—I've transformed every night since the first one. How can I be sure Wolfsbane will work?"

"I don't know, I'll have to find some information about Fenrir, perhaps he found a way to alter his infection. In the meantime, you need to come back," said Hermione firmly.

"I can't risk it. I really wanted to eat... Harry," said Ron. Hermione rapped him on the shoulder with her full strength.

"How can you leave your friends? And me!" she croaked. "You'd never said it, but I thought we'd been moving in the right direction, finally!"

"We have! I mean, I reckon it's, you know, official. We're together, yeah? That's the problem."

"What?" gasped Hermione, a wave of joy from his words conflicting with her frustration.

"Name something you like about me," demanded Ron.

Hermione scoffed and gave him a look that told him he was being a child. "Now's hardly the time or the place."

"Name something."

"Your sense of humor," she reluctantly admitted.

"Okay, thinking about my sense of humor reminds you that I'm great. I like your eyes, but now, thinking about them reminds me of the possibility that, with me around, when you shut them to go to sleep, you'll never open them again," said Ron with a cracking voice. His tone suggested that he'd rehearsed that line at least once.

"Because I'll have eaten them."

She shook her head. "Very poetic, Ron, but I don't think—"

Her voice trailed off as Ron's eyes darted to the direction of a faint yell.

"Hermione! Hagrid!" Harry's voice, echoing off the forest's trees.

Hermione placed the tip of her wand against her throat. "_Sonorus!_"

Before she could say anything and reveal their location, Ron grasped the crook of her elbow and lowered her arm, moving her wand away from her throat. She widened her eyes, giving him a pleading look, but he shook his head. After a short staring contest, Ron slowly leaned into her. Hermione sighed away her frustrations and cooperated, closing the rest of the gap before he reached her, and their lips met. Her arms slithered around his shoulders as he grasped her sides comfortably; they were an eerily perfect fit whenever they held each other.

After a soft but lengthy kiss, Hermione heard a quiet metallic click. Ron pulled away with reluctance, and Hermione opened her eyes, which she soon learned was pointless as she was surrounded once again by solid darkness.

She didn't dare scream his name, for fear of Harry approaching her expecting to see him. She slumped to her knees as the shadows that surrounded her faded away and the light was restored. Her eyes were screwed up with anger and sadness, with tears streaming down her cheeks and dripping onto the dirt.

She began to hear the crunching of twigs under nearby footsteps. She raised her wand in the direction of the rustling to see Harry approaching, his face laden with an inquisitive expression.

"Anything?" asked Harry.

"Ron's perfectly fine, it's true, he's a werewolf, and he refuses to listen to reason and come back because he thinks he'll hurt people," explained Hermione bitterly. "It's rubbish. He's using the Deluminator to hide from the Centaurs and I don't even want to know how he's finding food."

"Can't blame him, I guess. Imagine being a werewolf and being afraid to infect anybody you touch." Harry gauged Hermione's reaction, hoping to spark some sympathy. "I think the bit that irks you the most is that he's got a good reason."

"No! Doesn't he know we'll work through it? I'll make the Wolfsbane potion myself! But, no, he simply _must_ make things difficult, mustn't he? Don't look at me like that, Harry, he's left again!"

"Hermione, this time it was for our sake."


	7. Are You Mental?

Disclaimer: I don't own anything that has to do with Harry Potter or have any relation to its publishers or distributors and I do not profit from writing fanfiction.

* * *

"Ron's safe, everyone!" called Harry from the kitchen of The Burrow.

The red-headed residents of the old, unsturdy wooden home could be heard bounding towards the kitchen as if in a race to secure the last piece of treacle tart. Weasleys poured into the room from every door, and Harry saw that all but George were present. Harry and Hermione felt the stares of several pairs of hopeful eyes.

"He's not safe, Harry," argued Hermione.

"He's quite safe with the Deluminator. It'll be incredibly hard to catch him in complete darkness."

"What are you talking about?" demanded Percy as Harry noticed George appearing at the doorway, looking into the room with little interest.

"Ron can't use the Deluminator when he's transformed," said Hermione. "They'll catch him then."

"Who will catch him?" demanded Ginny, one of several very confused Weasleys. "Transformed to what?"

"Ron's decided to run away again," said Hermione, trying to sound informative but unable to hide her anger.

"Why?"

"Because he's a—he's a complete—"

"Actually," Harry interrupted quickly before Hermione could locate a word vile enough to describe her opinion of Ron. "I reckon Ron chalks it up to the fact that he's a werewolf."

Harry raised his hands to try and quell the shrieks of '_What!_' and '_No!_'

"Ron's a werewolf, infected during the battle by Fenrir Greyback." As Harry said this, Hermione's head shot up in realization and she dashed to The Burrow's garden and disappeared with a _*pop*_, only offering a quiet 'Be right back.'

"So why did he leave?" asked Mrs. Weasley. "And where has he gone?"

"He left because he was afraid he'd hurt one of us." Harry spotted George walking back up the stairs to his room. "He's hiding in the Forbidden Forest, but the Centaurs are... Not welcoming him."

"You mean 'hunting him,'" said Ginny. "Hermione said he wasn't safe."

"No one is completely safe in the forest," argued Harry.

"Take me to see him," ordered Ginny, shooting him a fierce look.

"Tomorrow—it'll be safer to see him in the day," said Harry, and it made enough sense for Ginny to agree. Harry sat down at the table to discuss the situation with the family he considered his own.

* * *

Hermione sat cross-legged on Ron's bed, which she had neatly made, her nose so far into a book you could play a disastrous game of Exploding Snap in the room without disturbing her. Her features were tense in concentration as she perused an old, worn copy of _Beating The Moon_. Beside her lay several tattered, dusty books that had been thrown hastily over her bed. She had been zooming through titles such as _So You Have The Fuzzy Curse_ and _Werewolf Do's and Don'ts_ all night and had scribbled notes across several pages of parchment.

She licked her dry lips and realized she had developed a thirst. She saved her place and tossed the book aside, then hopped off the bed. She winced upon landing; it had been several hours since she had started her research and the floor was now chilly under her bare feet. After hearing Percy's complaints of noisiness on the night Ron disappeared, she was careful not to anger the creaky staircase.

She walked into the kitchen quietly and could barely make out the shape of the kitchen table in the darkness of what appeared to be a moonless night. She raised her wand and took aim at the candle placed in the middle of of the table and fired a precise breath of blue flame through the candle's wick, igniting it.

As she lit the candle, it illuminated the face of a familiar ginger-haired boy. Hermione froze in shock, her eyes as big as golf balls as she stared into Ron's blue eyes, which shone dimly and both reflected the small orange flame of the candle.

"Hello," said Ron, amused by Hermione's expression as it changed from fright to exasperation to indignation.

"Don't scare me like that!" hissed Hermione in as loud a whisper as she could manage.

"Me? I was just sitting here minding my own business when you came along shooting fire. Nearly singed my bits off."

Hermione opened her mouth to respond but found herself distracted by Ron's bare chest yet again.

"Oh, where _is_ your shirt?" she finally snapped.

"Long story, I'll tell you later."

"What are you doing here?" Hermione spoke with combating hints of bitterness and hope. "I thought you weren't coming back."

"Things have changed," said Ron seriously. "I can't come back yet, but I want you to prepare the Wolfsbane potion for when I do, if that's all right."

"What's changed your mind?" asked Hermione briskly.

"This." Ron stood up and gestured for Hermione to follow him into the other room where she could hear the crackling of the fireplace.

Before leaving, Hermione waved her hand over the small flame atop the candle in the kitchen, extinguishing it with wandless magic; a trick she learned from mimicking Albus Dumbledore.

"Show off," muttered Ron as he led her to the other room.

As Hermione followed Ron into the much more well-lit living room, she set her eyes on a small figure standing by the fire to warm itself. It was unmistakably a Centaur, with the upper body of a young girl protruding from the body of a pony. Her long, wavy cinnamon hair reached her shoulder blades, with bangs that covered her forehead, and her similarly colored tail was swaying idly behind her. When the Centaur girl turned to face her, Hermione saw smooth, pale skin, full lips, glassy eyes of a dim honey-yellow hue and an oversized orange Chudley Cannons T-shirt over the Centaur girl's chest.

There Hermione stood like a statue, registering the sight before her. Questions flooded into her mind, but Ron didn't appear to understand the weight of the situation, as he was in front of the fireplace with his usual grin.

"Look," he urged; he waved his hand over the fireplace, causing the flames to disappear, though Hermione noticed a silver cigarette lighter in his other hand.

"That's cheating," said Hermione as Ron restored light to the fire with a chuckle. '_It's good to hear him laugh again,_' she thought; a thought which, she then realized, was rather inappropriate at a time like this. Hermione also noticed a light, squeaky giggle coming from the Centaur girl.

"Hermione, this is Helinora," said Ron with a smile, inviting Hermione to approach. Hermione extended a hand for Helinora to shake, and Helinora flinched timidly.

"Nora, she won't hurt you," whispered Ron. "She's really nice."

Hermione gave a weak smile as the girl took her hand and shook it. She couldn't have been older than 6 or 7, if Centaurs could be judged by human standards.

"Hello, Herminy," said Helinora.

"_Her-my-oh-nee,_" corrected Ron. "We reckon her parents were Confunded."

Hermione scowled.

"Hermione," repeated Helinora with a smile, and Ron nodded to her happily.

Hermione cleared her throat, then said, "Ron, why—"

"Is George here?" asked Ron.

"I think so," said Hermione. "He was set to move back into the shop, but he came back last night."

Ron turned to Helinora and crouched down to eye level. Hermione noticed a warm, caring look in his eye, and beamed with admiration.

"Stay here, okay? We're going to get help."

Helinora nodded.

As Ron and Hermione ascended the stairs, Hermione stared sidelong at her boyfriend, considering which question to begin with.

"I'll explain everything when we find George," said Ron, spotting her inquisitive gaze.

"I think I've figured out why you're transforming at such odd times."

"Yeah?"

"I've read that if you fight the curse, which you've appeared to have done, complications can arise."

"Oh, that's good then," replied Ron bitterly. "So all I've got to do is give in and go on some sort of rampage."

"I'll be making the Wolfsbane, and we can try that," said Hermione. "If if isn't effective, we'll figure something out."

Ron and Hermione arrived at George's door, and silently pushed it open without knocking. Ron poked his head into the room to find his brother sitting up in his bed and staring back at him.

"Hello, brotherman," said George with a smirk as Ron and Hermione entered. "_Howl_'_s_ it going?"

"_Ha-ha._ Say, George, can you heal cuts? Say, for instance—"

"The bite of a werewolf?" said George with a glance at Hermione. "Should I start calling you Hermoonie?"

"I haven't been bitten," said Hermione, though with a smile. "It's... Ron, please tell us what it is."

"Helinora's a Centaur—thought you'd have worked that out." George's smirk faded and Hermione's eyes narrowed.

"A Centaur?" asked George as he stood up from his bed. "You've brought a great, galloping Centaur in our house?"

"I know, Mum would have a fit, but I had to."

"Oh, do go on." George crossed his arms.

"Alright, here's the story: I became a werewolf the night of the battle, ran away because I knew I was dangerous. I'm hiding in the Forbidden Forest using the Deluminator—"

"We know that much, get to the bit where you kidnap a Centaur already!" huffed Hermione.

"I didn't effing kidnap anyone—I've been transforming day and night, you know, it's been real rough—sometimes, my hunger gets the best of me when I'm human, so you can imagine what it's like as a wolf... and I attacked the first thing I found, which was Helinora. I bit her in the stomach, but when I saw her face I couldn't do it, I c-couldn't... eat her." Ron winced as he noticed Hermione's wide eyes and dropped jaw.

"How'd she taste?" asked George. Ron went stony. "Well, sorry, excuse me, just trying to diffuse the—"

"So you brought her here to be healed?" demanded Hermione suddenly. "Ron, I'm sure the Centaurs have ways of healing wounds!"

"Yes, I'm sure they've got some galactic interplanetary method, but, y'see, after I attacked her..." Ron was now grimacing painfully. "The Centaurs knew that the werewolf curse would prevent her from bearing children. They said she was useless now that she was unable to give birth and they tried to kill her."

"Lovely creatures, them," said George as Hermione's hands covered her mouth. Tears threatened to glide down her cheeks.

"That's horrible!" she cried.

"I know, I've ruined her life, I've hurt her, made her outcast by her own race, and taken away any chance she's had at having children," said Ron weakly. "I saved her, and the Centaurs weren't happy about that."

"Don't you _dare_ blame yourself!" warned Hermione.

"You couldn't help it, brother, you're a blinking werewolf for Odo's sake," said George with a pat on the back. "Let's fix her up."

Ron nodded and led the way down the stairs, but stopped dead at the bottom of the staircase. Someone had gasped loudly from the living room. The three bolted into the room, and spotted Harry Potter, his jet-black hair shining in the light of the fire. In the corner, shaking, was little Helinora, who galloped quickly to Ron's side, hiding from the new faces.

"Ron!" breathed Harry. "There's a bloody Centaur in here!"

"Watch your language and keep your voice down!" hissed Hermione.

"No, Hermione, this is too much—all this—this _mentality_—it warrants the use of bad language—_bad fucking language,_ I daresay!"

"There—are—children—present!" admonished Hermione, pounding Harry on the arm with every word.

"Might I remind you lot that it's the middle of the night and there are four slumbering Weasleys upstairs, all on-edge, one of them a humongous prat; might do to keep it down, that's all," said George.

Helinora was backing into a corner, away from all the fuss, when Ron patted her on the shoulder and guided her back to the group. "It's okay, things are just a bit tense here, Nora, but they're okay."

"I'm sorry if I frightened you," said Harry.

"This is Harry, he's my best friend," said Ron, smiling as Helinora shook Harry's hand.

"And this is my brother George, he's going to heal you."

Hermione began explaining Helinora's tale to a bemused Harry as Ron carefully observed George's interaction with the young Centaur girl. Despite her reactions of caution to Hermione and Harry, Helinora seemed to trust George's calm manner right away. George crouched down and lifted Helinora's orange Chudley Cannons shirt up to her ribs, revealing a belt of bandages around her stomach. He then gently placed the tip of his wand at the center of the bandage and began murmuring a complicated incantation, speaking so fast it sounded like gibberish. The gob of blood that stained the bandages shrunk until it disappeared, and George unraveled them to reveal a smooth, healthy stomach.

"Thank you, George," said Helinora politely. She had a way of speaking very clearly and calmly that reminded Harry of Firenze, another Centaur who was outcast by his race and now lived at Hogwarts school.

"I don't understand," said Harry. "The Centaurs said the slaughter of foals was a terrible crime."

"Those Centaurs are off by Grawp's cave now," said Hermione. "There's no Magorian, no Ronan—even Bane wouldn't stand for this!"

"How did that happen?"

"It happened during the Battle of Hogwarts," replied Helinora. "It was after the leaders of the tribe saw the half-giant Hagrid, and you" — she nodded to Harry — "Hagrid said you were dead, and Magorian, Ronan, and Bane ordered the tribe to defend Hogwarts."

"Bane did that?"

"Yes, but the order was not unanimously followed," continued Helinora. "Many within our tribe refused to defend the human school, and, as Magorian's faction declared an attack on the Dark forces, Deralon rallied those that stayed behind, and he is now chief."

"And suddenly their ethics have changed under him?" asked Hermione.

"To Deralon's faction, a foal with no potential is a burden," said Helinora calmly. "They were also concerned that I would become violent like a wolf."

"Where will she go?" asked George.

"Ron!" pleaded Helinora suddenly. "I don't want to go back!"

"Helinora, how do you feel about living with humans?" asked Hermione, smiling down at the young Centaur girl as Ron calmed her with a tight embrace.

"May I? When I grow strong enough, I will hunt for you," sold Helinora eagerly.

"Don't worry," said George. "You'll be able to live here, and if you can't, you can live with me in Diagon Alley, I promise."

"This isn't a joke," warned Ron. "If you're trying to attract customers, George..."

"As though I'd need it!"

"You're welcome here, Helinora," added Hermione with a smile.

"There's, er, a free bed in my room," said George. He was supplied with apprehensive looks from everyone but the girl to whom he spoke. "Come, get some rest."

At that, George walked Helinora up to his room carefully, his typical smile returning from its absence since the death of his brother. Harry looked to Hermione who was also smiling, but at George, then looked around at Ron, but he was gone.

"Ron?" asked Harry as he snuck around the house, scanning it for his best friend. "Where are you?"

Harry heard a groan from the next room and hurried into it to find Hermione pouting grumpily.

"Oh, where does he think he's going?" huffed Hermione. "He can't go back to the forest, he simply can't."

"Tea?" offered Harry.

"Please. I'll need to get started on the Wolfsbane."


	8. The Council of Elders

Disclaimer: I don't own anything that has to do with Harry Potter or have any relation to its publishers or distributors and I do not profit from writing fanfiction.

* * *

The sunrise shot streams of light to blanket the green grounds of Hogwarts which looked like slime in the dewy dawn. The Black Lake splashed itself onto the shore as giant tentacle stretched over the ground from its depths, its owner submerged in the water. Atop the largest rock in the area, a small toad turned to face an assembly of animals before him, all sitting attentively with the exception of a tiny, hyperactive owl that was hooting incessantly.

"Glorious! I'm glad to see you've all made it to the bimonthly gathering of the Council of Elders. Except for you, Pigwidgeonald the Yellow, I'm quite disappointed to find that you've remembered the date," joked the toad.

"Not cool!" screeched the owl.

"Calm yourself," said the toad.

The toad surveyed his audience: From left to right, a slender cat with glowing, lamplike eyes, a beefy black boarhound whose snout leaked drool onto the dirt, an enormous ginger-haired, bow-legged cat, the tentacle of what must have been a squid of legendary spatial mass, and a skinny, energetic runt of an owl all watched the toad with interest.

"The meeting shall now commence. First, a moment of silence for our fallen sister, Hedwig," said the toad, and after the group observed a brief moment of peace where even Pigwidgeon stopped and calmly bowed his beak, the toad continued.

"Now, we shall discuss the state of the reconstruction of the castle after the Battle of Hogwarts. Lady Norris, can you give us any new information or insight?"

"Yes, Lord Trevor," purred Mrs. Norris, Argus Filch's cat. "Mr. Filch predicts the reconstruction to be finished only one month after the school year is scheduled to start."

"If they find someone who isn't a grungy old Squib, then we might have the reconstruction done in time for the school year," woofed the boarhound.

"SILENCE!" snapped Mrs. Norris as the boarhound whimpered away slightly. "Mr. Filch works much faster than that oaf Hagrid!"

"You will treat Sir Fang with respect, Lady Norris," said Trevor calmly.

"My apologies," said Mrs. Norris unapologetically.

"Next, I'd like to remark upon the state of the Centaurs: Their aggression is ceaseless, their ways barbaric. Yesterday, my friend Edgar was trampled to death by one of them. Rest in peace, Edgar The Frog," said Trevor darkly, bowing his head for a moment before continuing.

"They have gone too far. Their encroachment on—"

"THEY'RE GONNA PAY!" hollered Pigwidgeon.

"Thank you," said Trevor impatiently. "As I say, the Centaurs have gone too far."

"The gauntlet is thrown!" shouted Fang in a booming bark.

The earth shook beneath them when the Giant Squid slammed his massive tentacle against the shore in agreement, causing Pigwidgeon to flail his wings. Waves of murky water overtook the shore from the shockwave, then reeled back into the water, adopting a green tinge as though impregnated with seaweed.

"Calm yourself, Tentaculox!" shouted Mrs. Norris who was beginning to appear flustered.

"Yes! Glorious! The Centaurs shall pay for their crimes! We shall wet our swords with the blood of our oppressors! May their heads be hoisted atop the scepters of our highest templar as a tribute to the reign of Hogwarts!" sang Trevor, receiving cheers in the form of barks, meows and hoots.

"Now, I'd like to discuss this werewolf that's been terrorizing the grounds and the edge of the forest recently," said Trevor as the riot calmed. At this, the enormous orange cat raised its paw calmly and politely, imitating its master.

"Yes, Sir Crook of Shankston?" inquired Trevor.

"It is the red-haired boy with the stupid face—the uncivilized heathen my master obsesses over." Crookshanks' tone was bitter.

"Great Godric's sword!" exclaimed Trevor. "A member of the Golden Trio, a werewolf?"

"I've met the Wolf-Man, and he is gentle, even as a wolf," said Fang.

"What was his human name?" asked Trevor.

"Roonil Waslib," supplied Mrs. Norris.

"Ah yes, we must protect young Roonil. Pigwidgeonald, please alert the family of Aragog. We'll have to end the meeting here, for I have pitched in battle for a fortnight and have a king's thirst for the buzzing grubs as thou dost have for thus!"


	9. The Goat Whisperer

Disclaimer: I don't own anything that has to do with Harry Potter or have any relation to its publishers or distributors and I do not profit from writing fanfiction.

* * *

At sunrise, the sun's rays pierced an opening in the curtains of George Weasley's window and slapped him in the face. '_I want bigger curtains._' was George's first thought of the day as he slid his legs over the edge of his bed and rose to his feet. When his vision finally achieved focus, his jaw dropped for a second.

He had almost finished a greeting before his expression of shock vanished. He had thought for a moment that his twin brother was standing right before him, but he was mistaken. He balled his fingers into a fist and struck the mirror, feeling a quake of shock through his arm and a cold breeze tickling his bleeding knuckles.

He growled at the crumbling glass that once taunted him, but then heard a delicate whimpering that cleaned his mind of all violent thoughts. He turned quickly, his eyes fixing on the top bunk of his bed and spotting a pair of gleaming golden eyes which were twitching with fear.

"Don't be scared," urged George. "I won't hurt you. It's just that... say, how old are you?"

"Nine," managed Helinora, her calm and clear manner of speaking winning out over her fear.

"I won't lie to you, I've lost my twin brother in the war, and I'm not quite over it. When I saw the mirror, I thought it was him, and when I realized what it was, I got angry."

"Oh," Helinora's tense tone softened. "I'm sorry for you."

"Thanks," said George with a weak smile. "How about breakfast?"

George held out his arms to help the young Centaur girl, but she hopped past him gracefully, stuck a perfect landing, and turned to smirk proudly at him. George offered a small applause and took her hand, knowing she'd still need help with the stairs.

"Yes, please," said Helinora. "Do you know, the stars foretold of twin heroes bequeathing an instrument of the Dark Force's destruction to the Hero of the Age when the Black Knight mounted the White Horse."

"Er—really?" George hesitated. "Oh, yeah, that was about five years ago."

As he guided her to the door, it shot open quickly and another red-headed Weasley burst into the room looking quite peeved, with his short, neat red hair somewhat frazzled.

"I'll no longer be tolerating any tomfoolery and racket in this house," huffed Percy before halting at the sight of Helinora. "What on Earth—MERLIN! Merlin's... Merlin's... His—"

But before Percy could name a garment severe enough to express his shock, George rapped him on the shoulder.

"Pipe down!" hissed George with a scowl.

"That's—it's a Centaur, but—but how?" breathed Percy.

"Blimey, Percy, it's a long story, just ask Hermione," said George impatiently before he turned to Helinora. "This is Percy, he enjoys long walks on the beach and cuddling in bed with his book of Ministry Rules and Regulations."

With a soft laugh, the Centaur girl turned to Percy. "I'm Helinora, nice to meet you."

Percy offered a curt nod while shooting a narrow-eyed glare at George, and took Helinora's other hand to help her down the stairs.

They were greeted in the kitchen by a spread of breakfast dishes over the large table, each more appetizing than the next. They were also greeted by a flurry of gasps and shrieks at the sight of the Centaur girl.

"Bloody boot, it's just a Centaur!" whined George while making his way to the table and pushing a chair that would have belonged to Ron out of the way so that Helinora may stand in its place. George eyed the plate of thick bacon in front of him longingly as Helinora turned to the crowd.

"My name is Helinora, and I'm a Centaur of the Deralon tribe. I was attacked by a werewolf—imagine my surprise, Mars had waned—and my fellow Centaurs knew that the werewolf infection would interfere with my reproductive abilities. My existence is pointless if I cannot bear children, you see."

"No it isn't," said George. "That's a load of Centaur rubbish."

"Perhaps," said Helinora. "But as I can no longer reproduce, I've been sentenced to death. At my execution, Ron saved me and brought me here."

A few moments' silence passed, with Ginny, Molly, and Arthur looking horrorstruck.

"Where is Ron?" asked Mrs. Weasley through sniffles.

"Ronald's run off into the night yet again," growled Hermione coldly as she stepped into the kitchen, followed by an exasperated-looking Harry.

"Try to see it from his perspective," groaned Harry in a tone that told everyone it was the fifth or sixth time he'd said it. "He doesn't want to hurt us."

"Oh yes, he's quite the saint, isn't he?" Hermione scoffed.

"What's happened to your hand?" asked Ginny, gripping George's hand which was crusted with blood.

"Well..." mumbled George, his expression changing drastically. A _*crack*_ sounded through the room as he Disapparated on the spot, taking his plate of bacon with him.

"He punched his mirror," explained Helinora, and judging by the looks she was given, she knew she didn't have to explain why.

* * *

Glancing toward the pale azure of the afternoon sky that barely penetrated the grimy windows of the Hog's Head, George Weasley sat in his usual seat at the bar, consuming a shot of thick amber liquid.

"Give me another," grunted George to the grizzled barman.

"You don't need another," said Aberforth before snorting and spitting into a trash bin.

"Just give me another. I've got the money, give me another."

"Look, I'm not very good at this _emotional guidance_ shit, but I think you ought to stop being such a wuss."

George's head slowly rose as he glanced at Aberforth who gave him a serious nod.

"Maybe you're right, I should go," said George before he Disapparated in his chair, leaving a few sickles and a startled Aberforth behind.


	10. Fists for Fighting

Disclaimer: I don't own anything that has to do with Harry Potter or have any relation to its publishers or distributors and I do not profit from writing fanfiction.

* * *

Hermione Granger stood over her cauldron with her nose scrunched up in disgust and her brows tensed in concentration, as she concocted a rather odious-looking potion. Huffing in triumph over the complex procedure of brewing the Wolfsbane potion, she threw herself onto Ron's bed for some well-earned rest.

"The things I do for this daft boy," yawned Hermione.

As she became drunk with the drowsiness of sleep, just seconds from dreamland, Hermione heard a frantic tapping at the window nearest her. Hermione dragged herself to her feet and spotted Pigwidgeon, Ron's energetic owl, carrying a small slip of parchment as he repeatedly attempted to pierce the glass of the window with his beak. She hurried to the sill and pulled the window open; streams of dust puffed from its sides. The owl fluttered through the room and dropped the parchment at her feet.

* * *

_Roonil is under attack from a Centaur assault in the Forbidden Forest! _

_Send armies!_

* * *

Ignoring the obvious questions that flew through her mind, Hermione bottled a dose of the steaming potion in a small crystal vial and set off down the wobbly stairs.

_*crack*_

Harry, Hermione, and Ginny appeared out of thin air on the main dirt road of the village of Hogsmeade. Looming over them was the turquoise gradient of the twilit sky casting a dim blue light over the village. The trio quickly made a break for the Forbidden Forest on a route that passed through the Hogwarts grounds. They passed by Hagrid's hut on the edge of the forest and noticed it was dark and silent.

Their skin prickling with bumps from the cold night air, the three teenagers hastily sped through the forest and made its dark depths echo with shouts of Ron's name. They followed a path that had been obscured by a cloud of dark fog during their previous visit, alert to the slightest sign of the red-headed boy. Before long, a familiar voice rang through the forest to them.

"Harry!"

Skidding to a stop, their eyes traced to the origin of the voice and were approached cautiously by a tall, gangly teenager.

"Ron!" shrieked Hermione and Ginny in ear-splitting unison.

"Quiet!" barked Ron. He glanced around at the surrounding trees. "They're after me—they got me while I was sleeping—I've lost my Deluminator."

"How did you escape?" asked Harry breathlessly.

"Spiders."

"What?"

"I'll tell you later!" squeaked Ron, visibly frightened, glimpsing through the thicket of trees a rising orb betwixt the stars. "That's the moon!"

Throughout the Horcrux hunt, Hermione proved herself able to think under pressure, and, demonstrating this ability, she wasted no time withdrawing the vial of Wolfsbane from her pocket and shoving it into Ron's hands.

"Drink it!" commanded Hermione.

Ron quickly disposed of the stopper and downed the potion in one gulp, and his face contorted with disgust as he spat at the ground.

"That's disgusting!" groaned Ron.

"Wolfsbane is meant to be quite foul," said Hermione in a very Hermione-like tone. "So that's good."

Ron's expression went blank, almost like the victim of a memory charm, as he stared at the moon above.

"Ron?" cried Ginny. "_Ron!_"

The look on Ron's face told Ginny she'd be better off talking to a wall. Oblivious to the presence of his friends, his head tilted unnaturally, his jaw hung ajar with darkened teeth, his eyelids half shut in a soulless stare, and his pupils enlarged to the size of pennies. Harry latched his hands onto Ron's shoulders, attempting to calm his best friend who shook uncontrollably.

"Ron!" shouted Harry, to no avail. He instinctively looked to Hermione with a pleading expression.

Harry turned back to Ron to see a grin forming on the corners of his open mouth, his head tilted back slightly. Accompanied by the empty stare of his saucer-sized eyes, it completed an expression of extreme euphoria. Ron looked the happiest he ever had, in fact, as if he had just woken up to find Hermione serving him breakfast in bed completely nude while informing him that the Chudley Cannons had just taken the Quidditch League championship by a landslide victory.

Harry drove his palm into Ron's chest. "This heart is where you live, Ron!"

"That didn't work last time, Harry!" warned Hermione.

Ron's back lurched into a hump, his limbs violently jerked and grew, extra joints formed at his shins and he quickly shot up to a greater height. Graying brown hairs sprouted all over his body, covering his pale skin, and his face morphed gruesomely to form that of a wolf. He lowered his snout, whimpering dog cries of pain while adjusting to the transformation.

"Ron?" asked Hermione weakly. "Ron, are you in control?"

Ron, now in the form of a large, thin, humanoid wolf, glanced up at her quietly. Hermione began to approach with her hands raised submissively.

"Ron, it's just me," said Hermione soothingly. "It's Hermione."

The wolf appeared to be considering her, but she soon froze on the spot when he looked to the ground. A low growl quaked from the wolf, and its head snapped upward to glare at Hermione, with its jaw hanging open, revealing canine teeth as long and sharp as nails.

"Careful!" breathed Ginny, earning her a bark from the wolf, at whom she scowled brazenly in return.

Hermione's next course of action, however, left her two friends staring, bewildered. Hermione lowered her hands calmly and closed the gap between herself and the growling beast. She gently planted a hand at its stomach, which Harry then noticed was the actual source of the grumbling.

"He's just hungry—oh, Ron!" chuckled Hermione as Ron lapped at her cheek with enthusiasm; he tilted his head and kicked his leg when she reached up and scratched behind his ear.

Harry and Ginny approached, huffing sighs of relief. Ginny threw her arms around Ron and squeezed, while Harry patted him on the shoulder, careful to avoid the splinching scar on his arm.

"See," said Harry. "You didn't need the Wolfsbane after all, you just needed me here to remind you who you truly are."

Amidst the snorts and gruffaws, Ginny eyed Ron and Hermione suspiciously.

"If you two ever..." began Ginny sheepishly. "Nevermind."

"If we ever what?" asked Hermione.

Harry sniggered loudly, but his grin vanished when he noticed a sudden movement in the brush nearby. He turned to find a dark figure appearing in the teal gloom between two trees. It was nearly as tall as Ron's current form and three times as bulky. Ron shifted in front of Hermione protectively, baring large wax-colored teeth and growling at the massive figure.

Harry inspected the figure as it approached: It marched on four thick, muscular legs that ended in hooved feet. Even with the lower body of a horse, it appeared top-heavy, with the body of a very stocky man. Its eyes bulged out of its head, red with anger, fixing the teenagers and wolf with a murderous look.

"**YOU!**" bellowed Deralon venomously while pointing a Beater's Bat-sized finger at the teenagers. "You've been aiding and abetting this animal's rampage!"

"His rampage?" retaliated Ginny vociferously. "What about _your_ rampage!"

"I don't reckon that's smart, Ginny," warned Harry as Deralon walked towards them, the difference in size between them becoming more apparent with each step.

"You're heartless!" continued Ginny. "How could you do that to one of your own?"

Deralon's eyelids twitched dangerously and he made to draw his bow from over his shoulder, but before he could, Ron had pounced. With great agility, Ron sped through the patches of bushes and roots and reached Deralon before he could draw his weapon and clamped his jagged teeth down over Deralon's shoulder.

A low-pitched, phlegmy groan erupted from Deralon's chest as he scuffled with the Wolf-Man. Ron had dug his canine teeth into Deralon's muscle and was jerking his neck violently to rip flesh from bone. Deralon aimed a powerful punch at Ron's exposed ribs—a high yelp sounded through the forest—and the wolf was launched several feet through the air, crashing into a dead tree trunk that exploded in a cloud of dust.

Harry took action quickly, drawing his wand, but they were greeted by a crowd of approaching Centaurs. Harry retreated back to Ron's direction to find Ron fleeing quickly, with Deralon on his tail.

"Oi, Deralon, you mule!" barked Harry, and immediately, every Centaur set their eyes on him, including Deralon. After a second, they all charged, but Deralon spoke up.

"No, he's mine! Go after the wolf!"

Harry raised his wand quickly. "_Accio Firebolt!_"

Harry's hand shot into the air to catch the broomstick that was zooming to him and mounted it expertly. He rocketed off into the forest with the monstrous Centaur in close pursuit.

* * *

Meanwhile, deeper into the Forest, the lanky wolf bounded through vines, trees and brush to escape the clopping sound of the trailing Centaurs. Logically, he knew he wasn't fast enough to escape them, just as he knew a dog couldn't outrun a horse. Ron began to notice transparent white webs in the trees around him that formed various snowflake-looking patterns, and discovered a tunnel in the ground much like the one that connected the Whomping Willow to the Shrieking Shack.

He figured the Centaurs would have a job chasing him through the cramped space as his thin frame would have considerably less trouble, and he was right. He noticed the Centaurs struggling behind him as he crawled through the dirt and into the pitch-black tunnel with nothing to guide him but a faint speck of light on the other side.

As he exited the tunnel, he noticed something very familiar about the cavern he'd entered. '_I've been here before, but when?_' he pondered. His memory returned to him quickly once he heard a quiet clicking and saw thousands of legs scurrying at him from behind every crevice and rock of the cave. Approaching him were Acromantulas, the children of Aragog, the legendary arachnid Ron had met in this cave 6 years ago.

He let out a pathetic yip as he retreated on shivering paws, but when he turned to the tunnel from whence he came, he saw that a few Centaurs had already made it to the cave. Ron didn't see, but heard an arrow being shot; he ducked and yelped as it ripped a shallow cut into his neck. The small sting in his neck, he was fine with, but being trapped between murderous Centaurs and giant spiders was a bit of a problem.


	11. The Master of Disaster

Disclaimer: I don't own anything that has to do with Harry Potter or have any relation to its publishers or distributors and I do not profit from writing fanfiction.

* * *

The panic-stricken werewolf's head shifted from side to side desperately, his eyes scanning the glossy walls of the moonlit cave for an escape. '_Lucky these spiders aren't smart,_' thought Ron as he noticed a clear path that shanked through the army of approaching arachnids. He charged into the opening, speeding through a crowd of flying arrows and slender, fuzzy Acromantula legs, his cringe growing more pronounced by the second.

The fearful wolf mindlessly raced through the darkening catacombs with no plan or sense of direction, taking random turns and paths to make himself impossible to follow. Though Ron trotted past several of the hideous, evil, 8-limbed, exoskeletal demon-beasts that haunted his nightmares, and was sure some of the spiders spotted him, they had not made a move for him. '_That's because I'm so fast!_' Ron assured himself.

'_Too many legs for their own good,_' thought Ron as he appeared at a dead end and searched for an opening in the rocks. '_Now, to make my escape. There's got to be a way out somewhere._'

After his third sweep of the area, the moist, shiny stone wall nearest him began to rumble and rip open, forming a handsomely carved mahogany door that clashed severely with the earthy ground and streams of dust bleeding from the dark cave roof. Without hesitation, Ron began to bat at the golden doorknob with a paw.

* * *

Feeling the swooshing of leaves and the scratching of bristly twigs on his cheeks, Harry zoomed through the foliage of the Forbidden Forest like a jet, just fast enough to outrun the charging Deralon. The crow-haired teen would much rather shoot through the trees and fly comfortably over the forest, but that conflicted with his role as a human diversion. '_If he's chasing me, he isn't chasing Ginny and Hermione,_' thought Harry as he made sure he could still hear the thunderous gallop of the massive Centaur on his tail.

Soon, Harry emerged from the edge of the forest and onto Hogwarts grounds, which were velvety green under the bright moon. Harry flew past Hagrid's once-deserted hut at the edge of the forest, but its windows now revealed the glow of the fireplace inside, which would have been a soothing sight had it not been for the alarmed barks of the boarhound within the hut, the wind blowing past Harry's ears and the arrows that were nearly grazing his arse.

Harry sped toward the castle and saw something peculiar. A pair of shining lamplike eyes was staring at him from within the open front gates. '_Why is the gate open? Is that Mrs. Norris?_' Harry gained speed, hoping to close the gate before Deralon could follow him inside. However, he underestimated the speed of the massive Centaur, and turned 180 degrees to see Deralon leaping nimbly through the closing front gate.

Harry drew his wand in an instant, but an arrow, unseen in the darkness, pierced the shoulder of his wand-wielding arm, forcing him to release the wand with a pained shriek. Now disarmed, he ascended through the courtyard to the top of the castle's front wall, near the Astronomy Tower. He had watched Hagrid face Umbridge's goon squad from this spot as he took his Astronomy O.W.L. in his fifth year at Hogwarts.

Harry yanked the arrow from his shoulder; crudely crafted, the arrow splintered in his flesh and he howled in excruciating pain. Harry looked around for any sign of Deralon and saw that he wasn't in the courtyard whence Harry came and Harry assumed he was dashing through the castle's halls in search of the Boy Who Lived. Beads of sweat were pushing through his skin by the time he removed the arrow, and blood was trickling down his trembling shoulder.

"Why didn't I learn basic Healing the moment I realized I was the Chosen One?" groaned Harry as he cupped his spilling shoulder. He gripped the cuff of his sleeve and ripped it off, then wrapped it around the wound and tied it in a firm knot.

Harry heard the clicking of dog claws against the flagged stone floor below and turned around to face the courtyard. Dashing into view was a tall, lanky brown werewolf whose eyes were comically bulging with fright, closely followed by a row of fuming Centaurs and several dozen giant arachnids.

'_DO THEY EVER RUN OUT OF ARROWS_!' Ron attempted to bellow—it came out as a roar—as he raced through familiar hallways and secret passages. Anyone looking at the Marauder's Map at this point would have concluded that it was broken; they would have seen the famous Harry Potter, the Centaur chief and his tribe, thirty Acromantulas, Mrs. Norris, a werewolf, and Hermione Granger.

Ron skidded to a halt as he saw two brown eyes, a bushy head of hair and a raised wand approaching him quickly. With a surge of bravery upon seeing his new ally, he turned and charged the Centaur battalion. From behind him, curses were flying left and right, and in front of him, Centaurs were dropping like bricks from Hermione's magical might, their bows clattering on the ground.

One stood poised to shoot Hermione, but Ron had closed the gap too quickly for him. Ron snapped his teeth over the Centaur's bony knee and violently shook his thick canine neck, ripping the leg into a gnarled mess. Then a sharp, chipped hoof collided with Ron's sensitive snout, causing him to release his prey and emit a high-pitched yelp. Distracted, the Centaur was no match for Hermione's stunning spell and flopped to the ground awkwardly.

Ron flipped to his feet and strode towards Hermione, panting with exhaustion. Before she could inspect his wounds, his ears perked up and he turned around, facing the sound of thousands of bony legs moving. Acromantulas surrounded them in the middle of the courtyard, while Ron whimpered and shifted behind Hermione fearfully as she hexed spider after spider, though through sheer numbers their army was undiminishable.

The arachnid surround was closing in on the teenage girl and wolf quickly. Hermione was swift in disposing of the swarm of spiders individually, but for every one she stunned, two would take its place.

Then, something caught her eye; through the sea of pointed black legs and fuzzy, bulbous thoraxes shone a ripple of bright amber. It disappeared, then a breath of roaring fire blew through the insects like a gust of wind and scorched a blackened path through which Hermione and Ron could have escaped had they not been frozen in awe.

The stream of fire circled the group, leaving a trail of smoking soot staining the courtyard. The fireball was gaining strength and began to narrow into an hourglass-shaped pillar of flame, which was twisting like a tornado and rampaging through the spiders' forces, incinerating the screeching insects while they fled to the shadows of the castle's halls. Once the whirlwind of fire reached a height of about fifty feet, the walls of the castle were lit to a dim golden hue, and the air was rippling in the heat.

Ron and Hermione looked to the source of the blaze, and, illuminated by the raging flames, was the pale face of a boy whose hair was as bright an orange as the inferno he had just conjured. George Weasley's features tensed in concentration while he stroked a circular pattern in the air with his wand. The flames were soon shrinking into nothingness, and the fire withered and died.

Before Hermione and Ron could celebrate, a clopping of hooves echoed through from the hallways signalling the approach of the Centaur cavalry. Ron batted at Hermione's leg with a paw, turned to his side and crouched. Hermione nodded and mounted the tall, lanky werewolf's back, threw her arms around his neck, and prodded his side with her heel communicatively. Ron took off, bounding through the front gate of the castle and tore a path to the safety of Hogsmeade.


	12. Death from Above

Disclaimer: I don't own anything that has to do with Harry Potter or have any relation to its publishers or distributors and I do not profit from writing fanfiction.

* * *

Harry Potter wiped his glasses while registering the events he had just witnessed from high atop a castle wall. Harry had only seen a firestorm as destructive and powerful as that once before, and it had been conjured by Albus Dumbledore, who was famous for his unmatched magical ability. Ron had escaped with Hermione, but George was left behind to dismantle the Centaur fleet. He was disarming them as best he could, but the fire spell he had used to defeat the spiders appeared to have worn him out.

Harry could do nothing to help as his shoulder was frozen in shock from Deralon's arrow and his wand lay somewhere in the entrance hall, dropped in its owner's pain. Luckily, the Centaurs were hesitant to approach George after the tower of light he had created moments prior, which they must have seen as they approached the castle.

Harry began to quake on his perch as the ground rumbled. The leviathan Centaur chief had finally navigated through the castle and was storming in Harry's direction. Fearful of another arrow impaling his flesh, Harry quickly mounted his Firebolt and took off like a rocket away from the Centaur. '_It won't be long before he sets his sights on George,_' thought Harry. He turned to face the bulky Centaur, and, by a whooshing sound in his ear, realized he had narrowly avoided another arrow.

Harry dodged, ducked, dipped, dove, and dodged, avoiding the increasingly frustrated Centaur's arrows like Bludgers. It was only a matter of time, Harry knew, before he would be hit again. Then, Harry spotted a massive shadow on the grassy Hogwarts grounds outside of the castle; as he neared, Harry distinguished Hagrid by his great big bushy beard, and darted towards him at lightning speed.

"Harry!" bellowed the approaching Hagrid. "What's goin' on!"

"Deralon is on the warpath!" shouted Harry as he hovered a few feet in front of Hagrid, the only time he's been able to talk to the half-giant eye to eye. "I've lost my wand!"

"Here!" shouted Hagrid, lobbing his crossbow to Harry.

Harry reached out to catch the crossbow and could barely maintain his grip as he felt a wave of pain in his wounded shoulder. Harry swooshed past Hagrid and vanished into the night sky, only visible when his flying figure blotted out the stars. His injury was nearly disabling him as he took aim at the massive Centaur with great difficulty. His only advantage was his ability of flight, and he'd have to stop flying momentarily to be able to aim with his good hand.

When the gigantic Centaur was within range, Harry thanked Merlin for such a big target and shifted Hagrid's crossbow to his healthy arm, weakly gripping his broom with the other. But before he could take aim, Harry saw a dot of darkness whipping toward him and flipped in mid-air to avoid the incoming arrow. Now upside-down, hanging onto his broom just by his curled legs, he spiraled out of control and landed atop the castle wall, rolling like a tumbleweed as his broom and crossbow clattered on the ground near him.

Harry rose to his knees on the coarse stone surface of the castle wall and gazed at the nearing Centaur, then braced himself and ducked as he saw an arrow shooting his way, but it veered off its course and shattered a window of the Divination Tower. Harry looked up to see a flash of brilliant ruby splashing against Deralon's back but doing little to faze him. The Centaur chief turned on the spot to face his attacker, and as he did, Harry spotted the crimson locks and determined face of Ginny Weasley, who was sending rapid but ineffective curses towards Deralon.

Instantly, Harry understood how Bellatrix Lestrange was killed so easily, and exactly how Molly Weasley felt when she did it. The pain in his shoulder that had been so paralyzing before was now more like a pesky alarm clock. Adrenaline, rage, and fear had made a juggernaut out of Harry; he swiped his Firebolt and Hagrid's crossbow from the ground, mounted the broomstick, and zipped through the wind at Deralon who was trotting toward Ginny and raising his gorilla-like arms to point his bow in her direction.

At that moment, Deralon's balance faltered and he slipped on a slimy substance Ginny had magicked onto the ground before him. Harry grinned upon identifying the ooze: bat bogeys. Harry took his chance as Deralon was awkwardly pulling himself to his hooves and brushing the shiny mucus off of his bow-wielding hand. Gliding past the Centaur slowly, Harry prodded the steel tip of the arrow that was loaded in Hagrid's crossbow to Deralon's temple and squeezing the trigger with all of his grip, firing the bolt through the brute's massive skull at point-blank range, with a gruesome _*crunch*_ and a geyser of blood that splattered from the exit wound.

Deralon fell carelessly like a ragdoll, dropping from the castle wall down to its front steps below, creating one final shockwave. Harry floated to a slightly shaken Ginny and hovered before her, brushing a coat of sweat from his forehead and shooting her a fierce look. He knew this was the time to make one final, heroic comment that would sweep the impossibly adorable red-head off her feet.

"_Mars... is bright tonight,_" growled Harry seriously between heavy breaths as he glanced to the sky.

When he returned his gaze to Ginny he found her cocking an eyebrow with her hands on her hips, trying to suppress a fit of laughter. Harry wondered how she could laugh at this point, as he was just grasping the weight of what he'd done.

"You alright?" asked Harry with a forced grin.

"Yes," said Ginny, her face still and her eyes twinkling, looking shocked but amused.

"Good aim, yeah?" breathed Harry with a smirk.

"Oh yes, you're a real marksman." Ginny chuckled.

Harry's eyes scoped her smooth face and he noticed that the moonlight was her pale skin's best friend, by the glow it was giving her.

"I guess you'll always be the one to save the day," she said, approaching the hovering Harry.

"I'm sorry, would you rather have been the one to figure out a weapon you've never even touched before with one hand while flying on a broom?"

"Maybe," said Ginny, smirking, as she gingerly examined Harry's wounded shoulder and cleaned the crust of blood from it with a spell. "If I had a Firebolt."

"All righ', Harry!" bellowed Hagrid from below. Ginny hopped onto the broom in front of Harry and took control of it. He took the chance to grip her around her waist tightly while she guided him down to the ground where Hagrid stood.

"My shoulder's been stabbed," said Harry shakily, the pain of the wound returning to him. "Filch'll have a job with this carcass."

"No, no, I'll take care of it," mumbled Hagrid. "He'd find the crossbow bolt n' I'd get in trouble."

* * *

"I think we've escaped," assured Hermione, riding on werewolfback through the village of Hogsmeade. With the intention of creating as much distance between himself and the giant spiders as possible, the gangly humanoid wolf ignored the bushy-haired girl that was clinging to his back.

Hermione glanced up to see a strip of sunlight slashing over the horizon, with streaks of magenta lining the clouds in the daybreak. She felt her grip over the wolf loosen as he shrunk in size and lost his balance, skidding face-first into the dirt road below him, now a tall, lanky, red-headed human. Ron curled up slightly and winced, his hands shaking and his fingernails bleeding.

"Ron!" cried Hermione. She knelt next to him and helped him to sit up. "Are you alright?"

"Ruddy fingers bleed every time," growled Ron bitterly. "I'm sure this is what Skele-Gro feels like."

"Are you sure you're all right?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Few new scars, but shit, how can you even tell at this point?" joked Ron, grinning with slimy teeth.

"_Language_, Ron," admonished Hermione. "I can tell you've got a new scar on your neck—actually, that looks like a fresh wound, I'll have to tend to that."

Ron chuckled as Hermione caressed the pink scratch.

"You've got some bruises on your chest, and you've also cut your nose, but I think that was from just now. You've got a bit of dirt on your nose. Did you know? Just there." Hermione passed Ron a sly smirk as she brushed his large nose clean.

"Yeah, thanks." Ron rolled his eyes. "I can't notice any new marks on you."

"Perhaps that's because I'm wearing clothes," joked Hermione, her cheeks growing a bit pink.

"Bloody hell!" breathed Ron as he began piling nearby leaves over his lap to cover himself, his face and the tips of his ears flushing maroon.

_*crack*_

Ron's older brother materialized instantly out of thin air.

"What the Bloody Baron is going on here?" said George as his eyes scanned the two teenagers. "Oh, put some clothes on, Ronniekins, you'll scare the villagers."

Ignoring Ron's scowl, George continued. "You know, you two really shouldn't do this in public."

"I thought people can't Apparate or Disapparate on Hogwarts grounds?" grumbled Ron.

Hermione gasped dramatically. "Oh, my, Ron, you've finally stored that in your memory bank!" she said, sounding genuinely impressed, and beaming proudly.

"Well, being me does have its advantages," said George in his best Dumbledore impression. "Plus it helped that I walked down to the boathouse first."

"So, George, this means you're..."

"Almighty, powerful, the next Dumbledore?" chirped George.

"I was going to say 'a house elf.'"

"_Ha-ha._"

As George mocked a laugh, Harry and Ginny descended near them on Harry's Firebolt and dismounted.

"Good, everyone's safe—er, you're naked, Ron," mentioned Harry as if informing Ron that his shoe was untied.

"Thanks for the tip," grumbled Ron. He checked again to make sure he was covered by the leaves.

"_Ron!_" breathed Ginny. "Your body, do all werewolves have scars like that?"

"No, it's been like this for a while."

"You're well on your way to surpassing Moody," joked George.

"Shut it!" growled Ron. "What made you come 'round, anyway?"

George nodded toward the Hog's Head. "He's just as wise as his brother."


	13. La Resistance Lives On

Disclaimer: I don't own anything that has to do with Harry Potter or have any relation to its publishers or distributors and I do not profit from writing fanfiction.

* * *

Ron Weasley was creeping through the rickety hallways of the Burrow in the dead of night, holding his wand out in front of him, the tip of which had been illuminated with an utterance of "_Lumos._"

Sneaking through the house in what he thought was a skillful display of stealth, Ron elicited the creaking of several loose steps on his way down the stairs, until he finally reached the door that led to George's old room; the door had been cracked severely by one of the twins' joke shop experiments.

He knocked on the door carefully, just loud enough to alert anyone inside the room, but not the whole house. After a moment, the door opened to reveal the one-eared George Weasley, who was sitting on his bed, looking grave and a bit dizzy. Ron noticed a loose floorboard below his feet that had been hastily replaced upside-down.

"You drunk?" he asked bluntly.

"Why yes, I am." George smiled. "Want some?"

"I don't know. Yes."

George nodded and kicked the floorboard open, then leaned down and retrieved an unmarked bottle of honey-colored liquid. He also grasped something in his other hand that Ron didn't identify, but it became clear once George placed one in his mouth that they were cigars.

"How's your Conjuration?" he asked. Ron gulped. "Oh, yeah, dreadful, of course..."

Ron narrowed his eyes as George conjured a small glass in mid-air with a swish of his wand. Not to be outdone, Ron crouched down and grabbed a discarded sock that lay near George's dresser, then flicked his wand at it; it transformed into a silver goblet.

"You owe me a sock." George forced a weak grin and poured some of the golden liquid into Ron's goblet.

Ron took a sip, which turned into a full gulp, and soon the goblet was empty and Ron was smacking his lips together. "That's good!" he praised.

"Yeah, we loved that stuff back then, because it wasn't too strong." George shook his wand once, creating a small blue flame at its tip, then lit his cigar with it. "It's practically candy."

"You ready for tomorrow?" asked Ron suddenly. George sighed and handed Ron a second cigar. "No thanks."

"Take it—that drink isn't nearly destructive enough."

"Fine, if you'll talk," replied Ron, biting the cigar and leaning in so that George could light it.

"_Silencio,_" muttered George, aiming his wand at Ron, who had immediately burst into a fit of coughs. After Ron caught his breath, George lifted the Silencing Charm.

"Yeah, I'm ready for tomorrow," said George reluctantly. "I'm always ready, and I never tread lightly. It'll be good, don't worry."

"Anything I should avoid?" asked Ron, assuming George was talking about some sort of prank.

"Just remember to _stand up for yourself._" George attempted to smile again, but it came out as more of a grimace. "So, Ronnie, I want to ask you something."

"Yeah?" said Ron distractedly, preoccupied with attempting to blow blue cigar smoke out of his long nose.

"Why're you so jolly lately?"

"I've not been jolly." Ron raised his eyebrows.

"Yes you have, you prat," mumbled George. "Much too jolly for my liking. Fred is dead, you prick."

"George..."

"I know he wasn't your twin, and he took the mickey out of you sometimes, and he once pelted you with a water balloon full of milk and piss—"

"There was piss in there?" Ron demanded.

"The point is, you should be a lot more broken up, so what gives?"

"I just don't express myself all the time, you know that. I spent a whole year bracing myself for something like that. I'm still sad about it, obviously, and I've certainly not been _jolly_ with all the stuff that's been going on."

"I admire you, you know," said George in a vague tone, as if he hadn't been listening. "You're quite tough."

"Yeah, I guess," said Ron, while putting his cigar out covertly and stowing it in his pocket.

"Tougher than your lungs, at least," continued George. "'Nother drink?"

"I don't want to get drunk."

"I know a sobering spell." George glanced out of his bedroom window, looking bored. "It'll sharpen you up so fast it makes your head spin, which actually brings you right back to square one, so nevermind it."

Ron shook his head still.

"Right, well, I think I'll go back to sleep," said George. "Got to be bright for tomorrow's thingy, you know."

"All right, goodnight," said Ron, making his way to the door. He stopped as he reached it and looked back at George. "I love you, George."

"Ron, I know we're purebloods, but that's inappropriate."

* * *

The sun blanketed the greenery around the village of Ottery St. Catchpole and the nearby Weasley home through a cloudless sky. The sunlight was so intense that the grass shone lime green and people outside wore a sort of grimace to guard their eyes from the light. In the open field adjacent to the burrow, a tombstone was set.

_Fred Weasley, April 1, 1978 _-_ May 2, 1998_

_Mischief managed._

The tombstone was shaped like half of a regular tombstone. On the corner of the slab, the letters _D.A._ were engraved, which was a tradition that began with the grave of Colin Creevey. Next to it, a massive bearded man was digging a deep hole with tears streaming down his puffy cheeks. He stopped his digging repeatedly to bat the tears away with an overlarge handkerchief.

To one side of the the half-giant was a black wooden coffin with an elegant golden W at its center, and behind the coffin was a stage, on which a line of people stood waiting to speak at the podium. To the other side of the massive gravedigger were rows of black-robed wizards and witches, all family, friends, and acquaintances of Fred, all displaying a forlorn expression. Luna Lovegood was smiling weakly with wet eyes and had an arm around the shoulder of a stony-looking Neville Longbottom, consoling him.

Accompanying Hagrid's sobs were those of Mrs. Weasley and Hermione, and Ginny threatened to add her own as Harry held her in an extremely snug grip, expertly whispering comforting thoughts to her. Ron was looking grim, and Hermione was bawling compassionately into his robes, and he was glad they were black.

Every living member of the Order of the Phoenix and Dumbledore's Army was in attendance, including the Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, next to whom Percy had made a point to sit. Several teachers and faculty members at Hogwarts school, as well as residents of Hogsmeade were in attendance, including Professors McGonagall, Slughorn, Sprout, Flitwick, and Sinistra, as well as Madams Hooch, Rosmerta, and Pomfrey. Ron's eyes widened as he caught sight of the grizzled caretaker of Hogwarts, Mr. Filch, who, much to Ron's surprise, looked rather somber. Ron thought of Peeves running amok about the halls of Hogwarts, singing a heartfelt but completely inappropriate jingle about Fred.

Upon scanning the river of people in front of him, Harry noticed Cho Chang eyeing him a few times, and flashed her a smile when their gazes met, hoping for his sake that Ginny wasn't paying attention. Next to her sat Kreacher, whose white pillowcase stuck out in the sea of black. From a window in the attic of The Burrow, a pair of ghoulish eyes stared down at the stage.

Having already spoken, Harry quietly walked down an aisle, staying low so as not to distract anyone. He made his way through the grid of black robes to reach Andromeda Tonks who was bobbing the young Teddy Lupin up and down on her knee to entertain him. The darkness of the funeral's atmosphere wasn't strong enough to prevent a warm smile from stretching over Harry's cheeks as he reached his godson.

"Wotcher, Teddy," whispered Harry before he greeted Andromeda kindly and returned to his spot at the podium.

A deep rumbling breathing was coming from the very back of the crowd as Hagrid's half-brother Grawp, a 16-foot-tall giant, was standing politely at the end of the isle, with nobody daring to keep him company but a proud-looking Hippogriff to whom the giant would occasionally offer a friendly scratch on the beak.

The front row was comprised of a watery-eyed Fleur Delacour, her husband and Fred's eldest brother, Bill, Fred's dragon-taming older brother Charlie, ex-girlfriend Angelina Johnson, fellow Gryffindors Alicia Spinnett and Katie Bell, parents Arthur and Molly Weasley and best friend Lee Jordan. From behind Mrs. Weasley, Neville leaned forward and placed a hand on her shoulder.

"He was raised well," whispered Neville to her ear. "You're an amazing woman."

Mrs. Weasley placed her hand over Neville's and nodded, whispering a "_thank you_" and sniffing. Having known Neville's story, and the reasons behind his gratitude toward her, her mood lifted a bit from the gesture.

Beside the stage, Crookshanks, Mrs. Norris, Pigwidgeon, Fang, Trevor, Errol, and Hermes had grouped together, and so the Council of Elders was united to observe the ceremony silently. Fang had brought a Sneakoscope for protection, but was informed by Mrs. Norris that he'd actually brought an old teapot.

George was standing at the end of the queue to speak, and wore an unreadable expression, but was constantly checking his watch and surveying the scene. He stood flanked by Helinora the Centaur and four young kids who nobody but George recognized.

Ron had already offered a few awkward but sincerely loving words to his late brother. Harry had thanked him for the Marauder's Map, simply calling it 'the parchment,' and all the good times. Ginny had made a speech about how hard he worked to realize his dream, and Hermione had been allowed a pass as she was unable to speak between sobs. Throughout all of this, however, all eyes were on George who was set to speak last, after Hermione had at last managed a very eloquent but tear-filled speech.

George approached the podium, smiling to Hermione appreciatively, and crushed her in a tight hug, while patting her back. After a moment, he released her to step to the podium and take his spot once again as the center of attention, and the life of the party. He cleared his throat and offered a weak smile to the army of guests.

"With apologies to those I'll disappoint in doing so, I am going to make this short. I'll always feel like I've lost a big part of myself. Fifty percent, to be exact. However, I refuse to burst into tears—no, Hermione, you're doing fine—at the very mention of his name, because what he would love most of all is for his name to bring his friends and family good memories, good times, and a good day. Legends like Fred never die. In his honor and in his spirit I'd like you all to stand, just once, if you can." George's speech was calm and clear.

Nobody stood; many tried, but nobody could manage to separate their rear from their seat. Several people were stumbling over, trying to pry their chairs off of themselves, but they were sealed as though by glue. Kreacher was rolling around on the ground with his chair protruding from his rear as if it were a tail and mumbling about the legacy of Regulus Black, while some people had foolishly tried to curse their chairs away from themselves.

"Please, for Fred!" urged George miserably, though a grin was tugging at his lips.

"What in _blazes_ is going on!" shrieked Professor McGonagall. Hagrid poked his head out from the deep grave curiously.

The atmosphere was no longer filled with pained sobs, as everyone had stopped to witness the confusion.

"Allow me to introduce the Bandits' Butt-Binding Balm! No ordinary adhesive, this potion will go through your victim's trousers to ensure a lasting bond. You can purchase this item and many more at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes at ninety-three, Diagon Alley, on the grand re-opening, today!" sold George delightedly as he surveyed the crowd. Behind him, he heard the sniggering of two boys, the shushing of their girls, and in front of him, he saw many shocked and angry faces.

"I'm afraid you'll have to stick with those chairs for the next six hours," chuckled George, saying one last thing before strutting back into The Burrow.

"Fred sends his regards."

* * *

Harry was overcome by manic laughter, and to the gaggle of teenagers that had spoken at the podium and thus never took their seats, the dark mood had vanished and giggles were following them on their path back to the Burrow. Harry stopped in his tracks and grasped the wrist of his red-headed girlfriend, and beckoned her to follow him out to the field where the family often played Quidditch.

The grass was almost mint green in the glow of the sunlight, and, on it, the two teenagers trod side-by-side, engaged in small conversation. Harry suddenly stopped and combed his pockets dramatically before looking to Ginny.

"I think my wand's in my room." Harry's lips combated his urge to grin. "Could you summon the Firebolt for me?"

Ginny hesitated at his suspicious behavior but eventually obliged. "_Accio Firebolt!_"

The Firebolt burst out of the broom shed and came to a halt at Ginny's side, hovering at waist-level, waiting to be mounted. As Ginny's eyes returned to Harry, she noticed that he already had a sleek, black broom in his hand.

"What's that?" asked Ginny with narrowed eyes.

"My Firebolt," replied Harry in an attempt at an oblivious tone.

Ginny's eyes lowered to the Firebolt that was frozen in mid-air at her side, waiting patiently for her.

"Then what's this?" asked Ginny slowly.

"Your Firebolt," said Harry as though informing her that the sky was blue. "Do you know, I've always thought a good fly is the best way to make one feel better..."

In an instant, Harry had been tackled and violated, with the red-headed girl planting a large kiss on his cheek as he laughed gratefully, both at her enthusiasm and at her crimson hair tickling his neck. She jumped to her feet and hopped over the broom, before skillfully jetting off until she was only visible as a dot among the clouds that streaked the bright blue sky.

* * *

From the recently de-gnomed and re-gnomed garden of The Burrow, Ron and Hermione observed the two Firebolt owners rolling around in the field. While Hermione's wet cheeks displayed a joyed grin, Ron was scowling.

"Wish I had all the money in the world like him," he mumbled. "Then I could buy you that sort of stuff."

"Yes, I'd positively adore a Firebolt, you know how I love flying," joked Hermione, but Ron's pout only grew more pronounced. "Certainly, it's the best way for me to fail miserably and break my neck," she added.

Ron seemed satisfied with this response, and took Hermione's hand, leading her into the house. As their path crossed the kitchen, they passed a comically hunched-over Mrs. Weasley scolding George who was doing his best to fight an eruption of laughter at the chair stuck to her rear. As they went through the living room, they saw the four kids George introduced as the Battle-Axe Bandits discussing the re-opening of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes with Helinora.

Ron and Hermione hopped up the ever-whining stairs and finally made it to the messy room Ron shared with Harry; when Ron pushed the door open, specs of dust swirled around, illuminated by the light of the window. Ron secured the door behind them and approached her, his ears already betraying him and camouflaging with his hair. Her hair had been done up like it was at the Yule Ball, though not as neatly, which marked trouble for any plans of Ron's that involved not sputtering nervously.

"Hagrid said something that really made me think," began Ron. "And on a day like this—"

"We're not adopting any pets," decided Hermione quickly.

"No, though I have heard some good things about Australian Man-Eating Property-Destroying Uncurably-Poisonous Jellyfish. They're wonderful," joked Ron, and Hermione's ensuing laughter marked the return of his crooked grin. "What's so funny? They can take care of themselves is all!"

Hermione smiled. "What did Hagrid say?"

"He said everything is just a twist of fate these days, and it's true, anything could happen at any moment—I could be a werewolf being chased by spiders, George could adopt a Centaur girl, and—"

"You might even remember that one can't Apparate on Hogwarts grounds!" supplied Hermione, beaming.

"Or that, yeah. Anyways, in case anything does happen, I'd hate for this to go unsaid, er..." Ron began to twitch nervously.

"I'm listening..." guided Hermione.

"_Iminlowiyu,_" whispered Ron, beginning to sweat.

"Pardon? I didn't catch that," teased Hermione.

"Er, y'know, _m'inlowiyumione!_"

"I suppose that's the best I'm going to get." Hermione shook her head, smiling.

"I know we just got together and all that, yeah, but for me it's been years on and I just wanted to get that out of the way, y'know, tired of all the uncertainty of it and all..." Ron's sentence veered into incomprehensible mumbling.

"I'm in love with you too, Ron, and I've wanted to say it since the moment we did," said Hermione with a sweet smile. "Only I'd already initiated the kiss, so it was your turn."

Ron offered a relieved sigh and rushed forward to press his lips against hers enthusiastically, just as she had done to him in the Room of Requirement a month and a half ago. Several minutes later, they broke apart from their tangle with red cheeks and swollen lips, though they formed satisfied grins.

"By the way," mentioned Ron casually. "If I ever do kick the bucket, my family might tell you something like 'Move on, it's what Ron would have wanted,' well, that's a lie. If I die, you are to snap your legs shut like a well-oiled Fire Crab trap."

The chair-bottomed guests, Firebolt riders, House-Elf, Council members, giant, half-giant, magical creatures, Battle-Axe Bandits, Centaur, Master of Disaster, and Spattergroit-free ghoul ceased whatever they were doing momentarily as they all clearly heard the shrill shriek of "**RONALD WEASLEY!**" and the closely trailing _*smack*_

* * *

A/N: Aww, that's the end. Sequel shall be done.


End file.
